For Rossy

PART SEVEN

"You sure you're okay?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tom assured him, for what felt like the hundredth time. "I'm just tired."

"Well, I guess it's going to take time for your body to clear itself of the toxins. You're bound to feel tired," Harry agreed. "When are you back on duty?"

"A couple of days."

"Great. I'm off-duty tomorrow. Why don't we see if we can get some holodec time? I reckon the Captain owes you a shed load of credits under the circumstances. Let's shake the dust off Captain Proton and save the universe from the bad guys."

Tom shuddered slightly. "I don't think I…"

"Shit, Tom. I'm sorry," Harry interrupted hurriedly. "I didn't think. You've probably had enough wild flying the last couple of days to last you a lifetime."

"It's not that. It's just the carbon dioxide poisoning," Tom lied. "It's left me a bit nauseous."

"Everyone's going to be so pleased you're back."

"Are they?" Tom asked tonelessly.

"Sure they are. No one's stopped talking about you. You should have been here when the Captain made the announcement about Seska. I swear Neelix may as well shut down the mess hall because the only thing anyone's eating around here is humble pie."

"It's strange, isn't it?" Tom said quietly, his eyes remote. "Seska's still the same person she always was. She *looks* the same. The only difference is that people now understand that she's something else under the surface. Something unexpected and frightening."

"She's a Cardassian."

"Is she?" Tom asked. He smiled ruefully at Harry's startled expression. "She's a Cardassian *spy* and she's genetically a Cardassian but is that who she still is?"

"I don't understand what you're saying, Tom."

"It's hard to explain. It's just that…well; don't you think that 'looking' Bajoran must have changed her in a fundamental way? She lived a different life, interacted with people in a different way. Whoever she was when she agreed to that surgery, could that same person have survived unaffected by the experiences she had as a different person? You know what the Cardassians are like. She probably had no choice about the mission she was given but then she had to live with the consequences of it."

"You're saying you feel sorry for her?" Harry asked, his face reflecting his complete confusion.

"In a way," Tom agreed tiredly. "One day she was a Cardassian and then suddenly she was something 'other'. That couldn't have been easy for her. She would have tried so hard to stay the person she was before the changes but she couldn't control it. There was no going back but she couldn't go forward either. She could hardly turn around to the Maquis and say 'guess what? I used to be a Cardassian' but now I feel like a Bajoran. She isn't anything now. She's just something other and she can't fit in anywhere."

"The Doctor says her physical appearance can be changed back to her original form," Harry argued.

"That's just cosmetics, Harry. She's lived in a completely different body for years. That has to have changed her perceptions completely. Do you really think she can just climb back into her own skin and pretend it never happened? She slept with Chakotay."

"To establish herself in her new role, not because she gave a damn about him."

"Maybe so," Tom agreed, "but it still must have meant 'something' to her. Chakotay's too smart not to know if someone is faking it in bed. She couldn't have fooled him like that if she hadn't found some genuine attraction towards him."

"I kind of understand what you're saying, although I'm surprised you even care considering what she did to you," Harry said, his eyes screwing up in thought. "I guess she had to find a way to combine the two identities or she'd have gone mad. She was a Cardassian trapped in a Bajoran body and her experiences as a Bajoran mean she isn't really a Cardassian anymore. Not a pure one, anyway. So if the Doctor changes her back, she might feel like a Bajoran trapped in a Cardassian body." 

"I wonder whether she can live like that," Tom whispered. 

"She's not the suicidal type, Tom. She'll adapt and survive. That's what people like Seska do."

And what about me? Tom asked silently. What do people like me do?

~#~#~#~

This is stupid, Tom told himself, for probably the twentieth time in as many minutes and grunted with effort as he struggled to force his trembling, aching arms to replace the barbell into the rack above his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Bench-pressing almost three-times his body weight without someone spotting for him was just asking for trouble. Neck-breaking, chest crushing trouble if his exhausted arms failed on him now.

He grunted again, a pained exhalation of breath followed by a deep gasp as he dragged fresh oxygen into his depleted muscles as though it were a drug that would ignite yet more hidden reserves of strength.

Grunt, gasp, a burning strain against his biceps and…yes, the barbell rocked into the cradle and the ache in his arms was washed away by the addictive pleasure of his triumph.

He'd done it.

Five hundred pounds. 

Unbelievable.

He closed his eyes and just lay here on the bench, listening to the sound of his own heart as it slowed from the frantic beating of near panic to the steady rhythm of satisfaction.

Five hundred fucking pounds.

Awesome.

And again it began, that whispering voice in the back of his head, still repeating the same sly, insidious words. 'Try another 20 pounds, Tommy. Go on. Try another 20. Let's really see what you're made of.'

Stupid. Fucking stupid. Stupid to play this game with himself here in the gymnasium where there were no safeties. He should wait until he had holodec time, set up a holographic gym to test his strength, a gym where a mistake wouldn't kill him. 

'Try just 20 more pounds, Tommy. Where's the harm in that?"

Yeah, sure. Like he'd been telling himself since his first press of 200 pounds. Just 20 more, and then 20 more, and then 20 after that, until his body collapsed under the punishment and he dropped the fucking bar on his head.

Unless that was the point. Was it? Was this another fucked up, dumb-ass attempt to commit suicide? Was he hoping the next person to enter the gym would find him lying there with his head crushed like an over-ripe melon? Fucking stupid idea. If he wanted to commit suicide there was a hell of a lot easier way to do it. He could just walk up to the Captain and punch a hole through the middle of her Ready room table. 

He wanted to *know*. That was all. He just wanted to learn the capacity of this body he was living inside. Here, alone, with no witnesses. Adapt or die. That was the bottom line. Adapt to whatever he'd become, learn its limits, learn exactly what he was now capable of so that he was better prepared to conceal those capabilities. Stop making fucking stupid mistakes.

It was time to fish or cut-bait. He was either going to have to accept the changes in his body and learn to live with them, if only to be better at concealing them, or he might as well space himself here and now instead of holding all these whining internal debates about whether or not he felt suicidal.

The demon planet had taught him that no matter how depressed or scared he was there was a hell of a difference between thinking about suicide and actually going through with it. His instinct to survive had cut in even when he was so out of his mind with fear that he'd had to pretend to himself that he was dreaming. If he'd wanted to die he would have just jumped off that damned cliff the moment he'd found it. 

So, okay, maybe this was more than just an experiment. Maybe it was a punishment too. A self-inflicted punishment. An atonement for …

Bullshit.

Time to stop lying to yourself, Tommy-boy. This is what it is. This is exactly what it looks like. You've come here three hours before shift and spent those hours exhausting yourself in the gym just so that you don't make a mistake today. Just so you're too fucking tired to draw any more suspicion to yourself by moving a little too fast or reacting a little too quickly or…

Oh shit, he was scared.

An away mission to a planet with an environment so hostile that it was virtually demon-class. A planet where the atmosphere was so poisonous that, even in an environmental suit, a human couldn't survive. A planet so hot that it should have fried him alive. A planet on which he hadn't even broken sweat as he'd spent two days climbing up and down a rock face until he had enough crystal to fill the hold of a shuttle.

He was something different now. Something other. Something that could breathe poisonous air and see in the dark and hear sounds four decks below. Something that could bench-press 500 pounds without barely breaking a sweat and he suspected that even *that* momentary struggle to replace the weight in its cradle had been a psychological weakness rather than a physical one. He actually suspected that if he doubled the weight now and suspended his own disbelief for a moment that he would be capable of wielding it.

His abilities were perhaps only constrained by his own capacity to accept them. Which meant his safety depended purely on his ability to conceal them.

So maybe he ought to add another 20 pounds and do another ten reps just so he'd be too damned tired to give himself away.

Yeah. Another 20 and then maybe another 20, or maybe he'd just say to hell with it and see whether the barbell could even hold 1000 pounds and get the whole damned thing over and done with now. Get himself so fucking tired that he could barely walk.

And if that didn't do the trick, he still had a couple of hours before shift. He could always go fuck the shit out of Gerron again. 

Adapt or die.

Accept what he'd become and protect himself from discovery or just throw in the towel right now.

For a moment, his mind went blank with panic, his heart shuddering in his chest, and then he reached for the barbell once more.

~#~#~#~#~

When Chakotay first heard the rumors he found, to his own shame, that his first feeling was one of intense satisfaction. He'd obviously been right about Gerron being unable to satisfy Tom for long. According to the scuttlebutt from the lower decks, Tom was already beginning to stray in search of a more suitable mate.

He understood that the new atmosphere of Tom appreciation in the wake of the Seska incident was probably the main motivation behind Tom's urge to 'sow his oats'. 

Tom had virtually overnight become the Golden Boy of Voyager. He'd saved everyone's lives after the pirate attack. He'd single-handedly obtained enough wealth of Dilithium Crystal that they had enough power to get home and plenty left over to use in trade with any civilizations they passed on route. The fact that neither incident was totally explicable had been irrelevant to the Crew's attitude. In view of the general shame the Maquis had felt over the way they'd mistakenly labeled him a traitor, no one had even dared to voice anything that might be regarded as anti-Tom any more. The few people who hadn't towed the line on that general consensus had 'chosen' to leave the ship with Seska. Chakotay suspected that Ken Dalby had been one of the 'persuaders'.

The fact that it had been Tom himself who had suggested leniency for Seska, arguing for her banishment rather than her execution hadn't hurt his image at all. The equally true fact that the Captain had never had any intention of executing Seska had somehow fallen to the wayside of people's memories. The truth was that even on a Starship, mob rule won. Kathryn had jokingly said that if she tried to stand in the way of the 'Tom Paris Appreciation Society' she might as well change her name to Captain Bligh. 

Tom had changed under the adulation. Chakotay had expected Tom's old mask of cockiness to reemerge. He'd been wrong. For a couple of days after his return to the ship, Tom had been quiet and withdrawn. Shy even. Clearly overwhelmed by the attention he was getting and behaving almost as though he feared it. Then a new Tom had been born. Not a cocky, swaggering, posturing Tom but a quiet, self-confident one. A man whose whole bearing screamed Alpha male. 

Chakotay understood that to go from being the ship's pariah to being the person that everyone wanted in their beds had probably been a heady irresistible temptation. Particularly for someone whose sex drive was as intense as Gerron's injuries had suggested. Tom had several years of virtual celibacy to make up for and with people literally throwing themselves at him, Chakotay could understand Tom's initial inability to say no.

But what he completely failed to understand was how Tom was managing to retain his appeal in view of the fact that it was becoming well known that Tom 'played rough'. Although Tom's new reputation was clearly a deterrent to almost half the crew, the rest seemed more than happy to take the risk of sleeping with him. If the rumors were to be believed, Tom was bedding a different person every night and he never went back to a bed he'd slept in. It was as though Tom was testing each and every willing member of the crew for compatibility.

Except himself.

Not that he'd indicated any willingness. It was beneath his dignity to join Tom's invisible waiting list. It was also perhaps a measure of his own certainty that Tom was destined to be his that allowed him to wait in the sidelines. Despite his growing frustration, he had a totally unsubstantiated 'feeling' that Tom would inevitably come to his bed and then stay there. 

He told himself that it was just a matter of time before Tom exhausted all his other options. 

Kathryn had bluntly told him that life wasn't a fairy tale and his name wasn't Cinderella and that by standing in the shadows he would only have himself to blame when Tom 'settled down' with someone else.

He'd ignored her warning just as he forced himself to ignore the pangs of jealousy that caught him unexpectedly every time he caught that particular expression of smug satisfaction on someone's face that indicated they'd caught the prize. It was only when the Doctor complained to him that an increasing number of Tom's bedmates were reporting to Sickbay with injuries that he began to suspect the escalation of violence was a symptom of Tom's increasing desperation.

When he subsequently discovered that Gerron and Tom's relationship was seemingly unaffected by Tom's nocturnal wildcatting he felt even less sanguine about the situation. It wasn't just that Tom's behavior was blatantly refuting Gerron's own comment that he was 'in control' of the relationship. It confused Chakotay that Tom was choosing to remain with Gerron while he simultaneously sampled all the other goods on offer.

It suggested that Tom was keeping his options open, refusing to close the door on his relationship with Gerron in case he never found what he was truly looking for. Which, in turn, made Chakotay wonder what the hell Tom was looking for in a mate that he wasn't finding in Gerron's bed. 

Which, to be perfectly honest, was his true reason for waiting in the sidelines. He wasn't going to make his move until he was sure of what it was that Tom was looking for. He was only going to get one chance to claim his position as Tom's mate and he was damned well going to ensure he succeeded. 

His increasing tendency to mentally describe the object of Tom's search as a 'mate' rather than a 'lover' was also bothering him. It was as though his mind was subconsciously trying to tell him something that his conscious mind was failing to see. 

~#~#~#~

"Don't go," Gerron begged softly, his sleepy eyes doe-like and vulnerable. "Stay the night. Please, Tom. Just this once."

No reply, just a mocking glint in Tom's eyes as he glanced briefly in Gerron's direction before bending down to resume the lacing of his boots. Stifling a groan, Gerron rolled over onto his side and tried to ignore the lancing pain that shot through him as his movement trapped his bruised hip against the mattress. It was better, at least, than lying on his back. His shoulders and buttocks were hot and throbbing with Tom's bites, and he could feel an itching wetness oozing from several of the long welts that Tom had clawed down his back. Although it was too dark for him to see bloodstains on the bedding, he suspected he was going to be depleting his ration account for a set of new sheets yet again. 

"Please, Tom. Stay the night," he repeated, and then cringed internally at the pathetic needy tone of his own voice. 

"What for?" 

From anyone else, the words would have been sarcastic and cruel. From Tom, they were worse. Bored and indifferent and even slightly puzzled as though Tom couldn't even imagine a reason for staying now that he'd taken what he wanted. Gerron couldn't even blame the beast for Tom's answer. The beast was hiding again. Satiated for the moment, it had crawled back under Tom's skin the moment it had roared its completion.

He wondered when he had lost control of their relationship and then, on the tail of that thought, he wondered why he'd ever imagined that control had even been within his grasp. This was all there was. Every single night. The fucking, the bliss, the pain and then the loneliness as Tom reclothed himself and left to prowl the corridors of Voyager for fresh victims to satisfy his seemingly limitless lust.

He'd created a monster. He'd tried to catch a tiger by the tail and all he'd managed to do was get himself badly mauled. Twice he had seduced Tom in his quarters. Just twice he'd been able to imagine he might possess the beast and subdue it to his own needs. After that, Tom had changed the rules.

Or, maybe, *Tom* had changed.

He wasn't sure whether it was his own actions in forcing Tom to confront his dark desires that had caused the sudden shift in Tom's attitude and behavior or whether Tom's peculiar experience on the demon planet had been the catalyst but, on the night Tom had returned to the ship, Gerron had found himself barred from Tom's quarters. From then on Tom had visited *his* quarters. Every night, sometimes already stinking of sex when he arrived, Tom turned up, fucked him and left. 

He'd found himself looking for Tom's spoor on the entire crew, looking for the bruises, the bites, the limps or the smug secret smiles on people's faces as they sat in the mess and pretended to eat their breakfasts. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he was just one of an ever growing harem. 

The only difference between himself and Tom's other conquests was that, as far as he could tell, his was the only bed that Tom revisited. 

The weirdest thing of all was that no one seemed to have a problem with Tom's behavior. No one was complaining about it. No one was throwing punches and trying to claim ownership of him. Even B'Elanna had stopped slamming people against bulkheads in a jealous rage. It seemed that they were all like himself, too enthralled by Tom's spell to risk his displeasure. Too desperate for him to return to take the chance that an act of jealousy might drive him away. Too fucking aware that for every bed he visited there were a dozen more who would gladly accept him.

It didn't make sense.

But then nothing about Tom made sense any more.

At first, Gerron had assumed that it was the revelation that Seska was a Cardassian that had changed the crew's attitude to Tom. An announcement like that, coming so close on the heels of Tom's recent acts of heroism, had put the entire Maquis solidly into the Tom Paris appreciation society. Some of the Starfleet Crew had been less thrilled by the news but after Tom had put Baxter in Sickbay any other dissenters were keeping their thoughts to themselves.

With one punch, Tom had knocked Baxter clear across the messhall and into sickbay for a week. Walter Baxter who spent more time in the gym than he did on duty and was so built that he even made Chakotay look puny by comparison. The incident had been so improbable that Tom hadn't even done brig-time for the assault. There had been too many witnesses to the fact that Baxter had hit Tom twice before Tom had punched back and Tuvok's investigation into the incident had concluded that Baxter's head must have collided accidentally with one of the mess tables. He dismissed reports that Baxter had 'flown' through the air as being no more than hysterical exaggeration on the part of the witnesses. 

What no one was actually daring to say out loud was that Tom was beginning to frighten the hell out of a lot of people. Even the people who were queuing up to get added to his fuck-list.

That's what pissed Gerron off the most.

That whatever Tom was getting from him, it obviously wasn't enough. Tom was looking for something else, something other, and no matter that Gerron was willing to accommodate any desire that Tom wanted to enact, there was something he wasn't offering Tom. Something that Tom was looking for elsewhere.

"Fuck me again, Tom," he begged. "You don't need anyone else. I'm here. You can do anything you want to me. I can take it. I can take it all."

But Tom just shook his head, his eyes slightly puzzled as though he didn't know himself what he was looking for, only that it wasn't to be found here in Gerron's bed.

He rose and padded to the door, his groin hot and heavy with a need that Gerron's body hadn't slaked, in search of another moth desperate to immolate themselves on his flame, leaving Gerron to drag himself painfully out of bed and stagger towards the head where he'd lain out his bone-knitter and regenerator in preparation for this moment.

Perhaps, if he were really lucky, Tom would prowl back this way before the night was through and, if he did, Gerron wanted to be ready for him.

~#~#~#~

"That's the seventh person I've had to patch together and that's not counting the number of people who've used personal regenerators rather than reporting to Sickbay."

"I'm aware of that, Doctor," Kathryn replied mildly. "The question is what you expect me to do about it."

The EMH gaped at her, his eyes wide with shock. "I expect you to support me on this issue."

"I'm certainly going to have a quiet word with him about ensuring that his nocturnal activities don't affect the smooth running of the ship. Other than that, it's none of my business. Neither is it yours. The only person who's registering complaints is yourself Doctor and most of those relate to your irritation at the attitude of your patients. How did you describe it? 'The offensively indecent smiles on the faces of the victims'?"

"A member of the crew has spent the last three weeks demonstrating what can only be described as aggressive sexual deviance, something that is clearly out of character for him, and you're saying that's none of our business?" the Doctor challenged. "Mr. Paris clearly needs some form of counseling."

"Exactly what standard are you judging his so-called 'deviance' against?" she countered. "By Klingon standards, Tom's activities wouldn't even count as fore-play. According to Chell, one of the supposed 'victims', Bolians expect any sexual encounter to include a degree of aggression, and let's not even mention what happens between Vulcans during Ponn Farr. One of the most important resolutions agreed upon when the Federation of Planets was founded was that the right of consenting adults to choose any and all sexual practices would be considered sacrosanct. That doesn't just mean that we tolerate alien sexuality but that we actively embrace it. Tom Paris may be human, but he has an unalienable right to choose any expression of his sexuality, even if that means he embraces practices that might be the more 'natural' choice of a different species."

When the Doctor opened his mouth to object, she waved him silent.

"I agree that none of Tom's records indicate that he has a tendency towards this kind of behavior but, to be fair, Tom's records are as reliable as fluidic space. Tom kept to himself in the Maquis and, contrary to the rumors I know have circulated around this ship, the penal colony at Auckland has a strict policy of preventing relationships of any kind between prisoners. Add that to the fact that until Seska's unveiling the only members of this crew who showed that kind of interest in him were the Delaney's, this is the first opportunity Tom has had in almost three years to pursue sexual relations on his own terms. I admit that I'm as surprised about his choices as you are, but that doesn't mean they're wrong and it's certainly unfair to say they're out of character when neither of us has any idea of what *would* be in character for him.

"The bottom line, Doctor, is that unless someone registers a complaint about his behavior or it interferes with the performance of his duties, what he gets up to in his personal life is none of our business."

"It's not just his sexual activity that's concerning me. What about the incident with Baxter? How did he knock out a man almost twice his size with one punch? How did he manage to perform triage on the whole crew in complete darkness? How did he manage to carry the entire Bridge Crew to Sickbay? There's something wrong, Captain. Something badly wrong. His whole behavior has changed since Caton."

"Has it? Are you sure?" she demanded. "Do you have any medical basis for your concern?"

"I ran a complete physical examination when he returned to the ship after the Dilithium incident. He had a severe case of carbon dioxide poisoning. Not a dangerous level but enough to cause concern. The next day I ran a second scan and he was in perfect health."

"So he's fine."

"Too 'fine'. There should still have been traces of toxins in his blood. Besides, when I say he was in 'perfect health' I was talking literally. His readings were absolutely optimum in every respect. That's impossible for a man who lives on a Starship in artificial gravity without access to natural sunlight and with limited opportunities for an exercise regime. No matter what technological advances have been made to starship design, the fact remains that human bodies were not designed to live in space. Every member of this crew shows certain medical symptoms relating to the unnatural lifestyle they are living. The necessity for regular shore leave isn't just a psychological requirement for humanoids, it's a medical necessity too."

"I know," she agreed.

"Yet Tom Paris shows none of those symptoms. It's as though his body is perfectly adjusted to this environment. I'd like your permission to move him up the schedule for a full DNA examination."

"Are you saying that you believe Tom's health is in danger?"

"Quite the opposite. I'm saying that he is abnormally healthy."

"Then absolutely not," she replied firmly. "In view of the Seska situation I agreed to the schedule of examinations that you put forward to minimize the disruption to this ship. You're the one that judged Tom's examination low priority. Unless you can give me a valid *medical* reason to change that schedule I won't agree to it. What kind of message do you think that would send to the crew? It would suggest that I don't trust him. I'm not prepared to cast any shadow of doubt on his integrity now that he finally has found acceptance on this ship. 

"Tom Paris is an exemplary officer, one I'm proud to have in this crew. Let's deal with the facts, Doctor. Tom saved our lives. Tom isn't, and never was, a traitor. Tom is the best damned pilot who's ever graced the helm of a Starship and we're damned lucky to have him. Tom's also an extremely attractive young man with a troubled past that probably has a lot to do with his difficulty in forming proper relationships with other people. He's finally, probably for the first time in his life, found himself in a situation where people are not only willing to accept him but are openly keen to share sexual relations with him. 

"I agree that his current personal life is less than ideal. On the other hand, I think it's completely understandable. It's probably the first time in his life he's been in a position to pick and choose who he sleeps with. He's like a bee surrounded by nectar. He's flitting from one person to the next in a desperate urge to sample everything on offer. It might not fit your moral expectations, Doctor, and it certainly doesn't fit mine, but it's definitely none of our business either. He'll calm down soon enough. He's just 'sowing his oats', as Chakotay puts it. As soon as he finds the right person, he'll settle down and everything will return to normal."

"The right person?" the Doctor sniffed. "What makes you so sure that person is on board?"

"Call it a Captain's intuition," Kathryn replied, with an enigmatic smile.

~#~#~#~

"What the hell are you playing at, Jarvin?" Chakotay growled, as he passed the regenerator over the worst of the five deep claw marks on Jarvin's ass. "Have you got any idea how potentially infectious these kinds of wounds are? Human scratches carry almost as many germs as feline scratches do. You should have gone to sickbay as soon as you realized you couldn't reach them by yourself."

"I was too embarrassed, Cap'n," Jarvin admitted sheepishly.

"I know the Doctor's bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, but he's programmed to understand all variations of sexual encounters. Even ones as bizarre as this."

"It wasn't bizarre, it was fantastic," Jarvin argued, with a self-satisfied grin.

Chakotay 'accidentally' let the regenerator touch the infected skin and Jarvin's irritating smile was replaced by a yelp of pain. "So why didn't you go to sickbay?" he demanded.

"I didn't want to shock Kes," Jarvin admitted sheepishly. 

"Ah, yes. I can see why you'd think that would be a problem," Chakotay agreed. "But I shouldn't worry about it, if I were you. Kes spent most of yesterday morning regenerating a festering bite on Ayala's ass."

"Ayala?"

"Yes. It seems that while Greg has no more taste than you in bed partners he's at least got the sense to go to Sickbay when he's played a little too hard."

"I didn't think Tom fancied Ayala," Jarvin griped.

"I'm beginning to get the impression that Mr. Paris fancies anything that's still breathing and is stupid enough to let him into their bedroom," Chakotay growled, momentarily losing control of his own jealousy. It was hard to remain detached when he was regenerating the ass of Tom's most recent conquest. "I'm not sure whether I should be putting him in the brig for assault or thanking him for highlighting which members of the crew need a brain transplant."

"We're all adults," Jarvin pointed out, "and under Starfleet regs you've got no authority to interfere in our personal relationships."

"I hardly consider one-night-stands to fit under the mantle of 'relationships'. Mr. Paris is cutting a swathe through the crew, fucking a different person every night and leaving each and every one of them in need of medical attention." Chakotay grumbled, "I don't know what the hell he thinks he's playing at but I'm not going to put up with his Don Juan act any longer. I'm going to …"

"He's just looking for someone," Jarvin interrupted quietly.

"What do you mean? What someone?" Chakotay demanded eagerly.

"*The* someone," Jarvin said, with a slightly bitter laugh. "At least that's my take on it. He's not playing Don Juan. He's not playing at all. He's fucking and discarding because he isn't finding what he's looking for."

Chakotay chewed that over, his eyes narrowing as he saw the unmistakable look of pain and even jealousy on Jarvin's face.

"I always thought you were a ladies man, through and through," he pointed out softly.

"Yeah?" Jarvin demanded, the bitterness of his tone now unmistakable. "So did I, Cap'n. So did I."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know." At Chakotay's raised eyebrow he stiffened defensively. "I seriously don't know. I…I…shit; the only reason I asked him to come to my quarters was I wanted to talk to him in private. To…well, to apologize. I was pretty shitty to him when we first came on board."

"We all were."

"Yeah. Well, anyway, after I heard about Seska I felt bad, you know? So, I commed him and asked him if he'd come see me. I expected him to tell me to go to hell. Wouldn't have blamed him if he had. But he didn't. He came to see me and we talked and straightened things out. It was good. He's a nice guy when he drops all that self-defensive bullshit."

"So I see," Chakotay snarled sarcastically, tapping the regenerator against Jarvin's butt pointedly.

"Look, that was nothing to do with it. Not then. We were just a couple of guys talking. It was my fault it turned into something else."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we were talking, and drinking, and I…well, I started to get aroused." He flushed and twisted his head back away from Chakotay's gaze. "It threw me at first. I mean I'd never looked at a guy like that before. I'd never even imagined I could feel like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I wanted to jump out of my chair, throw him down and fuck him senseless. Well you asked," he added defensively at Chakotay's sudden intake of breath.

"So you propositioned him?" Chakotay asked carefully.

Jarvin shook his head.

"Nah. It's weird, but it was like the moment I became aware of my own feelings he did too. Like he read my mind or something." He laughed self-consciously. "Course, it could have been my hard-on that gave me away."

"So what happened?"

"He got this really strange look on his face. Something in his eyes. Hard to describe, but he just stood up and started to take his clothes off. I was kind of stunned. Speechless. I couldn't move. I'm just sitting there, watching him strip and thinking he's just about the sexiest thing I've ever set eyes on. All I can think about is how my dick's going to feel when I ram myself inside his ass. That's weird, isn't it? I mean I never even fantasized about doing that to a woman and suddenly all I can imagine is sinking myself inside Tom fucking Paris's butt.

"I don't even remember taking my own clothes off. I was trembling so hard I don't know how the hell I even stood up let alone got undressed. It was like…shit, it was like one of those holovids at DS9. You know. Those private ones that Quark keeps hidden under the bar. I was just too damned turned on to even think about what I was doing.

"Then he stepped forward and kissed me. I'd never kissed a guy before. It's different. Hard, kind of savage, just sex without any pretense and…I don't know, Cap'n. I can't describe what happened. Something just changed then. It wasn't a kiss. Not really. It was like the drawing of a battle line. Like the first shots getting fired across a bow."

"I don't understand what you're saying," Chakotay admitted.

"The minute he kissed me it all turned around. He grabbed my shoulders and stuck his tongue down my throat and I suddenly realized that it wasn't me who was going to be doing the fucking. I know it doesn't make sense. I've got fifty pounds on him at least and he *looks* as pretty and soft as a girl, but the minute he touched me it was like…hell, it was like the first time you and I had an argument Cap'n. You never even had to raise your fist to me. You fronted me off and I backed down. It's that alpha male thing. You've got it and, weird as it seems to admit it, so does Tom Paris."

"So he topped you."

Jarvin nodded, his eyes studying his feet. "Yeah," he whispered finally. "I let Tom Paris fuck my ass. I actually knelt down and let another man stick his cock inside me. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt. None of that 'it's your first time so let's take it easy' crap. He nearly ripped me in two. He was like a fucking animal. And you know what the weirdest thing is, Cap'n? If he walked in here right now I'd let him do it again. But he won't and I think I've figured out why he won't and why he keeps working his way around the crew like he is."

"Why?" Chakotay asked quietly.

Jarvin turned around, a crooked smile on his face as his knowing eyes raked Chakotay's face. "Oh, yeah. I figured as much. You don't give a shit about whether Tom's wildcatting is putting half the crew in Sickbay. You just want to know the secret, don't you? You want to know what he's looking for because you want to be it."

A hot, betraying flush rose on Chakotay's cheeks and he dipped his head in embarrassment. 

"Yeah, maybe you *are* the one he wants, Cap'n," Jarvin chuckled.

"Why do you say that?" Chakotay demanded, his eyes dark with hunger.

"I'll tell you what I think Tom Paris wants. He wants someone to front up to him. He's looking for the one person on this ship who might have the balls to try to fuck *him*. That's what he wants." 

Jarvin grinned at Chakotay's stunned expression of realization.

"Cat got your tongue, Cap'n?"

Go to Part Eight