(no subject)
Title: “Cabin Fever”
Fandom: Star Trek: Voyager
Characters/Pairings: Chakotay/Tom Paris, crew
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: c. 3,600
Warnings: Fluff, language, implied masturbation.
Timeline: Post-"Basics, Part II"
Summary: Chakotay grows a beard. It might just be Tom Paris’ undoing.
Notes: This is a belated birthday gift for kim_j_8472. I am very sorry it took me so long to finish this, my friend. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.
They had known about the power shortage for months before it actually happened.
B’Elanna was first to bring it up, not long after they had wrested Voyager back from the Kazon.
“We’re going to run out of power in twelve months,” she had told them bluntly, “if we do nothing. And the closest source of dilithium, as far as we can tell from long-range sensors, is eighteen months out. We’re going to need to start conserving power soon if we’re going to make it to that planet. If not... the journey home ends here.”
At first, the changes were small. Holodeck usage was scaled back, and lights were dimmed all over the ship during hours that were normally considered night back on Earth. The changes were inconvenient and slightly irritating, but they made sense, and Tom didn’t offer them too much thought outside of the occasional stab of annoyance that he couldn’t run his Sandrine’s holodeck program whenever he wanted.
But a couple of unpleasant--and, all right, nearly fatal--encounters with the Borg had left them a bit worse for wear, not to mention severely lacking in any power reserves. Eight months out from the dilithium source, they were left with barely four months of energy.
More drastic measure were put into effect in order to combat this shortage. Lights were dimmed all over the ship on a permanent basis. Holodecks were taken offline completely. Crewmembers were sent away from sickbay if they had only minor ailments; they were going to have to heal on their own, in order to conserve the power that the medical equipment used.
The senior staff now conducted their meetings in near-total darkness, which added an ominous air to the proceedings.
“We’re now a little over a week away from Planet X, as I’ve heard the crew calling our savior planet,” Captain Janeway said with a wry smile as she opened the meeting one afternoon. “So it’s time we started discussing how we might extract that dilithium. Commander?”
“We’ve been developing a plan to extract the dilithium and get it back to Voyager,” Chakotay told the rest of the assembled staff. “But we’re going to need some volunteers for the mission.”
He rubbed a hand along his jawline absently. The power shortage had reached such severe levels as of late that many of the crew were cutting some of their daily ministrations from their routines. In Chakotay’s case--as was true of most of the men on the ship--it meant that he had not bothered to shave his stubble in recent days, and his shadowed jaw had quickly turned into the start of a beard.
Tom opened his mouth to volunteer, and without even turning to him Chakotay said, “No, Lieutenant.”
“Commander -” Tom started to protest, irritated that he had been shot down so quickly. Chakotay turned in his seat and finally looked directly at him.
“No. It’s out of the question. We’re going to need our best pilot at the helm during this mission,” he said levelly.
Tom was sure he would have been able to come up with a reasonable protest--namely, that he was not the sole good pilot on Voyager--but the words caught in his throat as he stared into Chakotay’s face for the first time in days.
He hadn’t seen Chakotay let anything more than light morning stubble cover his jaw in years, and the last time he had grown a beard it had also been out of necessity. That had been during Tom’s brief stint with the Maquis, and Chakotay’s beard then had been more ragged and unkempt; almost feral.
The beard he wore now was neatly trimmed and dark, accentuating his strong jaw rather than hiding it. It was flecked here and there with grey that had not been there the last time, and Tom swallowed hard. Most days, he found Chakotay ruggedly handsome. Right now, however, the man was stunning.
“Yes, sir,” he found himself saying finally, almost meekly, and the attention shifted away from him.
He spent the rest of the meeting staring hard at Captain Janeway, and trying not to sneak sidelong glances at the man sitting next to him.
----
Life continued as normal while they struggled through the final part of their journey to Planet X. They worked and slept, ate and lived. The crew fought constant tedium, and clung to whatever distractions they could find.
The Mess Hall was teeming with people one afternoon, and Tom bit back a groan at the size of the crowd. He filled his tray with nondescript food and joined Harry and B’Elanna at a tiny table they had grabbed in the corner.
The crew hadn’t had any of their usual distractions in months, having been forced to give up the holodeck as their main means of recreation and entertainment. About the only place on the ship where they could escape the crushing tedium was the Mess Hall, and as a result it was crowded nearly twenty-four hours a day.
“First thing I’m doing when we get power back,” Harry grumbled to Tom and B’Elanna as they ate, “is going into a holodeck and never coming out again. I can’t remember the last time I was this bored.”
“I can.” Chakotay appeared out of the crowd, tray in hand. He took a seat opposite Tom and looked over at B’Elanna. “Tiana Prime?”
B’Elanna groaned.
“We were surrounded by Cardassians,” she said to Harry and Tom, “for a week. Twenty of us, holed up in this tiny little cave, with nothing to do but wait out their search. It was brutal. And on top of everything else...”
Tom listened to the rest of the story with only half an ear. He poured the rest of his concentration into making it appear as though he wasn’t staring openly at the man sitting across from him. He hadn’t seen Chakotay since the staff meeting two days ago, as he had been rotated to gamma shift while Chakotay remained on alpha. Their paths had little reason to cross these past couple of days.
And if it was possible, Chakotay looked even better now than he had before. The beard had filled in some more, and now his cheeks were darkened by it. He had his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. He had likely just come from working in one of the Jefferies Tubes, for there was a streak of grime on the side of his nose. When he smiled, a hint of teeth flashed behind his lips, and they were startlingly white against his tawny face.
His appearance was rough around the edges, earthy, and a sudden rush of heat coiled low in Tom’s belly.
“Is that dinner?” Tom asked Chakotay when he could stand the silence no longer, searching desperately for a distraction that would take his mind off his body’s untimely responses.
Chakotay gave a wry smile, the silver specks in his beard glinting in the dim light from a nearby lantern. Tom momentarily lost the ability to breathe properly at the sight.
“Starfleet’s finest,” Chakotay said dryly, holding up his fork. A questionable bit of vegetable was stuck on the end, the same kind of questionable vegetable that was on Tom’s tray. Their meals were all the same now, as there was no point in wasting energy on making elaborate meals when field rations would do. “Breakfast for you?”
“Yeah. Got a duty shift soon.”
Chakotay turned back to B’Elanna and Harry’s conversation. They had moved onto other topics, but Tom was no longer even pretending to listen to them at all. The low lights in the Mess Hall had thrown Chakotay’s face partly into shadow, handsomely aging his features by nearly ten years. The shadows and the beard softened his strong jaw, and that along with the dignified grey stirred something in Tom’s chest. He felt warm all of a sudden, and his mouth was far too dry for comfort.
He noticed with a start that Chakotay was looking at him again.
“Sorry, what?” he stammered. Chakotay had said something, but the words didn’t register with him.
“I asked if you were all right, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said, his brows furrowed. “You look... flushed.”
“You better not be getting sick,” B’Elanna said sharply, pointing her fork at Tom. “That’s more power we can’t afford to lose if the Doctor has to use his equipment on someone. You better ride it out, Paris, or I swear to Kahless -”
“I’m - fine. I’m fine, sorry,” Tom said quickly, trying to regain control of himself and put an end to the speculation. “I suppose I’m just a little distracted. The switch to gamma shift, you know. It takes a bit of time to get used to it. In fact, speaking of that - I should be going. Have a good dinner - breakfast - er...”
He trailed off, gave them all a half-hearted wave, and escaped the Mess Hall.
----
Three days later, Tom lay in his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes, begging for sleep to come. He had started pulling extra shifts in engineering in addition to gamma shift on the bridge, and spent hours trying to coax the ship into carrying them the final distance to Planet X. His schedule was downright brutal, and it almost never failed to send him quickly into sleep.
And he had taken on the extra duties in the hopes that, when he did finally fall asleep, it would be a rest so deep that he wouldn’t even dream. All he wanted, for once, was a sleep that wasn’t passionate and heated; a night’s rest where he didn’t wake up soaked in sweat and other, more embarrassing bodily fluids.
Cabin fever, that’s all it was. The power shortage meant that there was very little to distract them all from the fact that they were essentially living inside a tin can that was floating in a crushing, unending vacuum. It was enough to drive even the sturdiest of them up the wall, and Tom’s brain was coping the only way it knew how. There was no Sandrine’s; no hoverball; no Captain Proton; no escape from the boredom except through his fantasies.
It was a phase. It would pass. He was craving a warm body in hopes of taking his mind off things, and his mind had merely happened to latch onto Chakotay. This wouldn’t last forever. Cabin fever was only temporary.
A sudden image flashed unbidden across his mind at that thought, and he saw Chakotay’s feverish face looming over him, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading on the ends of his hair as he -
Tom groaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. This wasn’t cabin fever. Cabin fever didn’t last for years, and Tom had been nursing this infatuation since the day he joined the Maquis.
But he and Chakotay had worked together before, and in much closer quarters than these. Tom’s attraction had never been a problem back then, and had largely been regulated to some small, dark corner of his mind. This time, however, it was not only a distraction, it was downright consuming.
Damn Chakotay, and damn that beard of his.
Tom bit his lip. Chakotay had been down in engineering with him that afternoon during beta shift, assisting with the repair of a couple of the bioneural gel packs. They had been holed up in a Jefferies Tube together, where there was no escape from the scent of warmth and spice and musk that poured off of Chakotay’s skin. It had been dizzying.
Even now, hours later, Tom could conjure up a faint memory of the intoxicating smell, and it sent all of his blood south.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered. He slipped a hand under the waistband of his pajama pants and brought himself to a swift release, so quick that it was almost embarrassing.
And, there in the dark, there was no escaping the fact that when he came, it was with Chakotay’s name on his lips and the phantom feel of his beard rasping against Tom’s skin.
----
Tom woke less than six hours later to discover that energy reserves were now so low that power had been cut to the sonic showers. Not only that, but his alarm had failed to go off--also probably due to power restrictions--and he was running half an hour behind schedule.
He abbreviated his usual routine and was out the door in less than ten minutes. But the lifts were sluggish, as they had been for over a week, and Tom waited several minutes for one to finally arrive.
He was halfway to the bridge when the turbolift slowed to a halt, and the pause was so long before the doors opened that Tom feared that power had failed completely. But eventually the doors slowly slid aside, and Chakotay stepped through.
“I wasn’t sure if this one was going to make it. That’d be a hell of a ride, wouldn’t it?” he said when he spotted Tom, flashing a quick smile, his demeanor far too cheerful for his words. It was one of Chakotay’s many idiosyncrasies: he had a tendency to resort to ill-timed dark humor in difficult situations. “Bridge?”
Tom nodded, unable to find his voice. Chakotay’s beard had filled in properly over the last couple of days. He was still keeping it trimmed, but it reached farther up his cheeks now, and the grey was more prominent. Tom swallowed hard, inadvertently imagining what Chakotay would look like in several years, when the hair on his head would also be shot through with fine filaments of grey.
To his horror, the mere thought of that caused his blood to stir, and Tom tried to wipe the mental image from his mind. Of all the times to be fantasizing about the Commander, it just had to be now, when they were stuck in a confined space together -
Tom balled his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms, trying to will that particular mental image away as well. He closed his eyes briefly; when he opened them, Chakotay was staring at him, a look of deep concern etching lines into his face.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice full of concern. Tom gave a jerky nod.
“Fine. It’s just -” he waved a hand vaguely. “This whole situation. It’s just frustrating. All this waiting; wondering if we’re going to run out of power before we reach the planet. You know.”
Thank God, Tom breathed silently, that he was still capable of lying without a second thought. In truth, he hadn’t thought about their situation itself in days. All he could think about was Chakotay, and that damn beard, and how he was coming undone all thanks to a few strands of silvering hair. When he did think about their situation, if he offered it any thought at all, he felt only a faint stab of regret.
Chakotay was probably going to shave the beard once full power was restored.
Tom spent the rest of the turbolift ride entertaining different ways he could induce a harmless but lengthy power failure in the future--and then spent some time wondering if he could bribe B’Elanna to help him.
---
They came into orbit around Planet X--the name, it seemed, simply would not go away--three days later.
Tom was put back on alpha shift so that he could be at the helm when the away team departed. Chakotay, it was decided, would lead the mission down to the planet in order to collect the necessary dilithium. If B’Elanna’s estimates were correct, and if the power didn’t fail altogether, they would be able to gather enough crystals to fuel their journey for the next decade.
Before he departed the bridge, Chakotay put a hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“You’re about the only thing holding her together, Lieutenant,” he said. With power nearly gone, Tom was having to do everything manually, from flying the ship to keeping her level and stable. “Hold on for a few more hours, all right?”
“You got it, sir,” Tom said, his voice forcibly calm.
The feel of Chakotay’s hand on his shoulder burned itself into his skin, and lingered there long after Chakotay’s departure.
---
Tom flew the rest of his shift in a dizzying state of high alert. His limbs were practically thrumming with adrenaline, and he started slightly every time the away team made staticky contact with the bridge.
There were a dozen things that could go wrong before the team even reached the alien planet’s surface, and each scenario played itself out in his mind. Once that was accomplished, there was no guarantee that they would be able to get the dilithium back to the ship. They could be stranded down there forever if the power didn’t hold out, which would mean certain death. And then Voyager herself would be condemned to a much slower, but just as inevitable, death.
But none of that happened. The next time Tom became fully aware of his surroundings, he was in the middle of guiding Chakotay through the shuttle docking procedure. He didn’t dare allow himself to let out a breath until the launch bay doors closed, though, and he pressed down on that particular control so hard that his fingertips turned white.
“Docking procedure complete,” came Chakotay’s low, disembodied voice. “We’re all right, Tom. You can breathe now.”
Tom let out a huff of relieved laughter and felt the tension flee from his limbs, leaving them feeling numb and rubbery.
“Much appreciated, Commander.”
Power was restored a few hours later, and the bridge crew let out a small cheer when the lights returned to full and the ship thrummed back to life at last.
Tom spent the rest of his shift downright aching for a shower--and a proper one, too, not the sonic ones that failed to leave anyone feeling refreshed--and was finally relieved with the start of beta shift.
He made a beeline for his quarters, and ground the back of his teeth together in irritation when the turbolift suddenly came to a halt three decks away from his destination. The doors opened to admit Chakotay, and an immediate rush of warmth flooded Tom’s belly.
Hell.
“Commander,” Tom greeted. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as strangled as it felt.
Chakotay gave him a distracted smile and nod before returning to the PADD he had been perusing. He was still sporting the beard, which Tom was seeing for the first time in proper light. His mouth went dry.
“That - that was some good flying out there,” he managed, unable to stand the silence.
“You’d have done better,” Chakotay said, accepting the compliment with a slight nod and a smile. “But Voyager needed you more. You’ve really kept her going these past few weeks.”
Tom couldn’t find his voice to thank Chakotay, and they lapsed into silence again.
“Er... guess you won’t be needing that anymore,” he said after a moment, indicating Chakotay’s jaw. The Commander ran the back of his hand along his jaw, as though he had quite forgotten the beard.
“Oh. No, I suppose not.” He gave a small smile. “It’s too bad. I was getting used to it.”
“It suits you,” Tom said without thinking, and then cringed inwardly.
Chakotay gave him a bemused look.
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he said around a crooked smile. “I think, at least.”
“Oh, hell,” Tom sighed. Damn it all. “Computer, emergency halt. Seal the doors.”
The turbolift slammed to a halt, throwing them both off-balance. And before Chakotay had a chance to completely recover himself, Tom grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall.
“Sorry about this,” he said, and then sealed their mouths together.
Chakotay tensed, his mouth stiff and unmoving against Tom’s, but he didn’t draw away. Distantly, Tom heard a clatter, and realized that the PADD must have fallen to the floor. And then Chakotay’s hands found his hips, framing them, and his lips parted under the press of Tom’s tongue. He tasted of stale coffee and smelled of spice, and Tom had to fight back a moan.
The beard rasped along Tom’s upper lip, sending a shudder down his spine. He fisted his hands into the front of Chakotay’s shirt, trying to drag him closer, but they were already pressed together hips to thighs to knees, not a sliver of space between them.
It was an age before they broke apart.
“Well,” Chakotay said finally when Tom drew away. He attempted to sound nonchalant, but the breathlessness in his voice robbed him of that effect. “That explains a few things.”
“Does it?” Tom’s head was spinning. Had he really just done that? “Ah. Good. That’s... good - I should -”
He started to move away, but Chakotay’s arms went around him, preventing him from going. Tom opened his mouth to ask - well, he wasn’t sure what he’d been about to ask, because this time Chakotay was the one kissing him, and that effectively destroyed any coherent thoughts he had left.
When they parted, Tom traced a finger over Chakotay’s saliva-slick lips and then trailed it through his beard, the coarse hair bristling under his fingertip.
“You,” he said at last, “should keep this.”
Chakotay flashed him a rare grin, one that showed off his teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I certainly have an incentive now,” he said dryly. He was still holding Tom loosely, with one hand flat on the small of his back. The warmth of Chakotay’s palm bled through Tom’s uniform top, and he suppressed a shiver. “We’ve got about five minutes before the bridge is alerted to the fact that one of the turbolifts is on emergency stop, by the way.”
Tom searched Chakotay’s face for a moment and, seeing the glint in his eyes, returned the grin.
“Five minutes?” he asked with a smirk, curling a hand around the back of Chakotay’s neck and bringing him in for another kiss. “I think I can work with that.”
Chakotay’s mouth was soft and his kisses were as gentle as they were thorough, leaving Tom’s lips bruised and tingling. And his last thought before Chakotay’s tongue robbed him of any further lucidity was that this was so much better than his dreams.
Fandom: Star Trek: Voyager
Characters/Pairings: Chakotay/Tom Paris, crew
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: c. 3,600
Warnings: Fluff, language, implied masturbation.
Timeline: Post-"Basics, Part II"
Summary: Chakotay grows a beard. It might just be Tom Paris’ undoing.
Notes: This is a belated birthday gift for kim_j_8472. I am very sorry it took me so long to finish this, my friend. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.
They had known about the power shortage for months before it actually happened.
B’Elanna was first to bring it up, not long after they had wrested Voyager back from the Kazon.
“We’re going to run out of power in twelve months,” she had told them bluntly, “if we do nothing. And the closest source of dilithium, as far as we can tell from long-range sensors, is eighteen months out. We’re going to need to start conserving power soon if we’re going to make it to that planet. If not... the journey home ends here.”
At first, the changes were small. Holodeck usage was scaled back, and lights were dimmed all over the ship during hours that were normally considered night back on Earth. The changes were inconvenient and slightly irritating, but they made sense, and Tom didn’t offer them too much thought outside of the occasional stab of annoyance that he couldn’t run his Sandrine’s holodeck program whenever he wanted.
But a couple of unpleasant--and, all right, nearly fatal--encounters with the Borg had left them a bit worse for wear, not to mention severely lacking in any power reserves. Eight months out from the dilithium source, they were left with barely four months of energy.
More drastic measure were put into effect in order to combat this shortage. Lights were dimmed all over the ship on a permanent basis. Holodecks were taken offline completely. Crewmembers were sent away from sickbay if they had only minor ailments; they were going to have to heal on their own, in order to conserve the power that the medical equipment used.
The senior staff now conducted their meetings in near-total darkness, which added an ominous air to the proceedings.
“We’re now a little over a week away from Planet X, as I’ve heard the crew calling our savior planet,” Captain Janeway said with a wry smile as she opened the meeting one afternoon. “So it’s time we started discussing how we might extract that dilithium. Commander?”
“We’ve been developing a plan to extract the dilithium and get it back to Voyager,” Chakotay told the rest of the assembled staff. “But we’re going to need some volunteers for the mission.”
He rubbed a hand along his jawline absently. The power shortage had reached such severe levels as of late that many of the crew were cutting some of their daily ministrations from their routines. In Chakotay’s case--as was true of most of the men on the ship--it meant that he had not bothered to shave his stubble in recent days, and his shadowed jaw had quickly turned into the start of a beard.
Tom opened his mouth to volunteer, and without even turning to him Chakotay said, “No, Lieutenant.”
“Commander -” Tom started to protest, irritated that he had been shot down so quickly. Chakotay turned in his seat and finally looked directly at him.
“No. It’s out of the question. We’re going to need our best pilot at the helm during this mission,” he said levelly.
Tom was sure he would have been able to come up with a reasonable protest--namely, that he was not the sole good pilot on Voyager--but the words caught in his throat as he stared into Chakotay’s face for the first time in days.
He hadn’t seen Chakotay let anything more than light morning stubble cover his jaw in years, and the last time he had grown a beard it had also been out of necessity. That had been during Tom’s brief stint with the Maquis, and Chakotay’s beard then had been more ragged and unkempt; almost feral.
The beard he wore now was neatly trimmed and dark, accentuating his strong jaw rather than hiding it. It was flecked here and there with grey that had not been there the last time, and Tom swallowed hard. Most days, he found Chakotay ruggedly handsome. Right now, however, the man was stunning.
“Yes, sir,” he found himself saying finally, almost meekly, and the attention shifted away from him.
He spent the rest of the meeting staring hard at Captain Janeway, and trying not to sneak sidelong glances at the man sitting next to him.
----
Life continued as normal while they struggled through the final part of their journey to Planet X. They worked and slept, ate and lived. The crew fought constant tedium, and clung to whatever distractions they could find.
The Mess Hall was teeming with people one afternoon, and Tom bit back a groan at the size of the crowd. He filled his tray with nondescript food and joined Harry and B’Elanna at a tiny table they had grabbed in the corner.
The crew hadn’t had any of their usual distractions in months, having been forced to give up the holodeck as their main means of recreation and entertainment. About the only place on the ship where they could escape the crushing tedium was the Mess Hall, and as a result it was crowded nearly twenty-four hours a day.
“First thing I’m doing when we get power back,” Harry grumbled to Tom and B’Elanna as they ate, “is going into a holodeck and never coming out again. I can’t remember the last time I was this bored.”
“I can.” Chakotay appeared out of the crowd, tray in hand. He took a seat opposite Tom and looked over at B’Elanna. “Tiana Prime?”
B’Elanna groaned.
“We were surrounded by Cardassians,” she said to Harry and Tom, “for a week. Twenty of us, holed up in this tiny little cave, with nothing to do but wait out their search. It was brutal. And on top of everything else...”
Tom listened to the rest of the story with only half an ear. He poured the rest of his concentration into making it appear as though he wasn’t staring openly at the man sitting across from him. He hadn’t seen Chakotay since the staff meeting two days ago, as he had been rotated to gamma shift while Chakotay remained on alpha. Their paths had little reason to cross these past couple of days.
And if it was possible, Chakotay looked even better now than he had before. The beard had filled in some more, and now his cheeks were darkened by it. He had his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. He had likely just come from working in one of the Jefferies Tubes, for there was a streak of grime on the side of his nose. When he smiled, a hint of teeth flashed behind his lips, and they were startlingly white against his tawny face.
His appearance was rough around the edges, earthy, and a sudden rush of heat coiled low in Tom’s belly.
“Is that dinner?” Tom asked Chakotay when he could stand the silence no longer, searching desperately for a distraction that would take his mind off his body’s untimely responses.
Chakotay gave a wry smile, the silver specks in his beard glinting in the dim light from a nearby lantern. Tom momentarily lost the ability to breathe properly at the sight.
“Starfleet’s finest,” Chakotay said dryly, holding up his fork. A questionable bit of vegetable was stuck on the end, the same kind of questionable vegetable that was on Tom’s tray. Their meals were all the same now, as there was no point in wasting energy on making elaborate meals when field rations would do. “Breakfast for you?”
“Yeah. Got a duty shift soon.”
Chakotay turned back to B’Elanna and Harry’s conversation. They had moved onto other topics, but Tom was no longer even pretending to listen to them at all. The low lights in the Mess Hall had thrown Chakotay’s face partly into shadow, handsomely aging his features by nearly ten years. The shadows and the beard softened his strong jaw, and that along with the dignified grey stirred something in Tom’s chest. He felt warm all of a sudden, and his mouth was far too dry for comfort.
He noticed with a start that Chakotay was looking at him again.
“Sorry, what?” he stammered. Chakotay had said something, but the words didn’t register with him.
“I asked if you were all right, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said, his brows furrowed. “You look... flushed.”
“You better not be getting sick,” B’Elanna said sharply, pointing her fork at Tom. “That’s more power we can’t afford to lose if the Doctor has to use his equipment on someone. You better ride it out, Paris, or I swear to Kahless -”
“I’m - fine. I’m fine, sorry,” Tom said quickly, trying to regain control of himself and put an end to the speculation. “I suppose I’m just a little distracted. The switch to gamma shift, you know. It takes a bit of time to get used to it. In fact, speaking of that - I should be going. Have a good dinner - breakfast - er...”
He trailed off, gave them all a half-hearted wave, and escaped the Mess Hall.
----
Three days later, Tom lay in his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes, begging for sleep to come. He had started pulling extra shifts in engineering in addition to gamma shift on the bridge, and spent hours trying to coax the ship into carrying them the final distance to Planet X. His schedule was downright brutal, and it almost never failed to send him quickly into sleep.
And he had taken on the extra duties in the hopes that, when he did finally fall asleep, it would be a rest so deep that he wouldn’t even dream. All he wanted, for once, was a sleep that wasn’t passionate and heated; a night’s rest where he didn’t wake up soaked in sweat and other, more embarrassing bodily fluids.
Cabin fever, that’s all it was. The power shortage meant that there was very little to distract them all from the fact that they were essentially living inside a tin can that was floating in a crushing, unending vacuum. It was enough to drive even the sturdiest of them up the wall, and Tom’s brain was coping the only way it knew how. There was no Sandrine’s; no hoverball; no Captain Proton; no escape from the boredom except through his fantasies.
It was a phase. It would pass. He was craving a warm body in hopes of taking his mind off things, and his mind had merely happened to latch onto Chakotay. This wouldn’t last forever. Cabin fever was only temporary.
A sudden image flashed unbidden across his mind at that thought, and he saw Chakotay’s feverish face looming over him, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading on the ends of his hair as he -
Tom groaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. This wasn’t cabin fever. Cabin fever didn’t last for years, and Tom had been nursing this infatuation since the day he joined the Maquis.
But he and Chakotay had worked together before, and in much closer quarters than these. Tom’s attraction had never been a problem back then, and had largely been regulated to some small, dark corner of his mind. This time, however, it was not only a distraction, it was downright consuming.
Damn Chakotay, and damn that beard of his.
Tom bit his lip. Chakotay had been down in engineering with him that afternoon during beta shift, assisting with the repair of a couple of the bioneural gel packs. They had been holed up in a Jefferies Tube together, where there was no escape from the scent of warmth and spice and musk that poured off of Chakotay’s skin. It had been dizzying.
Even now, hours later, Tom could conjure up a faint memory of the intoxicating smell, and it sent all of his blood south.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered. He slipped a hand under the waistband of his pajama pants and brought himself to a swift release, so quick that it was almost embarrassing.
And, there in the dark, there was no escaping the fact that when he came, it was with Chakotay’s name on his lips and the phantom feel of his beard rasping against Tom’s skin.
----
Tom woke less than six hours later to discover that energy reserves were now so low that power had been cut to the sonic showers. Not only that, but his alarm had failed to go off--also probably due to power restrictions--and he was running half an hour behind schedule.
He abbreviated his usual routine and was out the door in less than ten minutes. But the lifts were sluggish, as they had been for over a week, and Tom waited several minutes for one to finally arrive.
He was halfway to the bridge when the turbolift slowed to a halt, and the pause was so long before the doors opened that Tom feared that power had failed completely. But eventually the doors slowly slid aside, and Chakotay stepped through.
“I wasn’t sure if this one was going to make it. That’d be a hell of a ride, wouldn’t it?” he said when he spotted Tom, flashing a quick smile, his demeanor far too cheerful for his words. It was one of Chakotay’s many idiosyncrasies: he had a tendency to resort to ill-timed dark humor in difficult situations. “Bridge?”
Tom nodded, unable to find his voice. Chakotay’s beard had filled in properly over the last couple of days. He was still keeping it trimmed, but it reached farther up his cheeks now, and the grey was more prominent. Tom swallowed hard, inadvertently imagining what Chakotay would look like in several years, when the hair on his head would also be shot through with fine filaments of grey.
To his horror, the mere thought of that caused his blood to stir, and Tom tried to wipe the mental image from his mind. Of all the times to be fantasizing about the Commander, it just had to be now, when they were stuck in a confined space together -
Tom balled his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms, trying to will that particular mental image away as well. He closed his eyes briefly; when he opened them, Chakotay was staring at him, a look of deep concern etching lines into his face.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice full of concern. Tom gave a jerky nod.
“Fine. It’s just -” he waved a hand vaguely. “This whole situation. It’s just frustrating. All this waiting; wondering if we’re going to run out of power before we reach the planet. You know.”
Thank God, Tom breathed silently, that he was still capable of lying without a second thought. In truth, he hadn’t thought about their situation itself in days. All he could think about was Chakotay, and that damn beard, and how he was coming undone all thanks to a few strands of silvering hair. When he did think about their situation, if he offered it any thought at all, he felt only a faint stab of regret.
Chakotay was probably going to shave the beard once full power was restored.
Tom spent the rest of the turbolift ride entertaining different ways he could induce a harmless but lengthy power failure in the future--and then spent some time wondering if he could bribe B’Elanna to help him.
---
They came into orbit around Planet X--the name, it seemed, simply would not go away--three days later.
Tom was put back on alpha shift so that he could be at the helm when the away team departed. Chakotay, it was decided, would lead the mission down to the planet in order to collect the necessary dilithium. If B’Elanna’s estimates were correct, and if the power didn’t fail altogether, they would be able to gather enough crystals to fuel their journey for the next decade.
Before he departed the bridge, Chakotay put a hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“You’re about the only thing holding her together, Lieutenant,” he said. With power nearly gone, Tom was having to do everything manually, from flying the ship to keeping her level and stable. “Hold on for a few more hours, all right?”
“You got it, sir,” Tom said, his voice forcibly calm.
The feel of Chakotay’s hand on his shoulder burned itself into his skin, and lingered there long after Chakotay’s departure.
---
Tom flew the rest of his shift in a dizzying state of high alert. His limbs were practically thrumming with adrenaline, and he started slightly every time the away team made staticky contact with the bridge.
There were a dozen things that could go wrong before the team even reached the alien planet’s surface, and each scenario played itself out in his mind. Once that was accomplished, there was no guarantee that they would be able to get the dilithium back to the ship. They could be stranded down there forever if the power didn’t hold out, which would mean certain death. And then Voyager herself would be condemned to a much slower, but just as inevitable, death.
But none of that happened. The next time Tom became fully aware of his surroundings, he was in the middle of guiding Chakotay through the shuttle docking procedure. He didn’t dare allow himself to let out a breath until the launch bay doors closed, though, and he pressed down on that particular control so hard that his fingertips turned white.
“Docking procedure complete,” came Chakotay’s low, disembodied voice. “We’re all right, Tom. You can breathe now.”
Tom let out a huff of relieved laughter and felt the tension flee from his limbs, leaving them feeling numb and rubbery.
“Much appreciated, Commander.”
Power was restored a few hours later, and the bridge crew let out a small cheer when the lights returned to full and the ship thrummed back to life at last.
Tom spent the rest of his shift downright aching for a shower--and a proper one, too, not the sonic ones that failed to leave anyone feeling refreshed--and was finally relieved with the start of beta shift.
He made a beeline for his quarters, and ground the back of his teeth together in irritation when the turbolift suddenly came to a halt three decks away from his destination. The doors opened to admit Chakotay, and an immediate rush of warmth flooded Tom’s belly.
Hell.
“Commander,” Tom greeted. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as strangled as it felt.
Chakotay gave him a distracted smile and nod before returning to the PADD he had been perusing. He was still sporting the beard, which Tom was seeing for the first time in proper light. His mouth went dry.
“That - that was some good flying out there,” he managed, unable to stand the silence.
“You’d have done better,” Chakotay said, accepting the compliment with a slight nod and a smile. “But Voyager needed you more. You’ve really kept her going these past few weeks.”
Tom couldn’t find his voice to thank Chakotay, and they lapsed into silence again.
“Er... guess you won’t be needing that anymore,” he said after a moment, indicating Chakotay’s jaw. The Commander ran the back of his hand along his jaw, as though he had quite forgotten the beard.
“Oh. No, I suppose not.” He gave a small smile. “It’s too bad. I was getting used to it.”
“It suits you,” Tom said without thinking, and then cringed inwardly.
Chakotay gave him a bemused look.
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he said around a crooked smile. “I think, at least.”
“Oh, hell,” Tom sighed. Damn it all. “Computer, emergency halt. Seal the doors.”
The turbolift slammed to a halt, throwing them both off-balance. And before Chakotay had a chance to completely recover himself, Tom grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall.
“Sorry about this,” he said, and then sealed their mouths together.
Chakotay tensed, his mouth stiff and unmoving against Tom’s, but he didn’t draw away. Distantly, Tom heard a clatter, and realized that the PADD must have fallen to the floor. And then Chakotay’s hands found his hips, framing them, and his lips parted under the press of Tom’s tongue. He tasted of stale coffee and smelled of spice, and Tom had to fight back a moan.
The beard rasped along Tom’s upper lip, sending a shudder down his spine. He fisted his hands into the front of Chakotay’s shirt, trying to drag him closer, but they were already pressed together hips to thighs to knees, not a sliver of space between them.
It was an age before they broke apart.
“Well,” Chakotay said finally when Tom drew away. He attempted to sound nonchalant, but the breathlessness in his voice robbed him of that effect. “That explains a few things.”
“Does it?” Tom’s head was spinning. Had he really just done that? “Ah. Good. That’s... good - I should -”
He started to move away, but Chakotay’s arms went around him, preventing him from going. Tom opened his mouth to ask - well, he wasn’t sure what he’d been about to ask, because this time Chakotay was the one kissing him, and that effectively destroyed any coherent thoughts he had left.
When they parted, Tom traced a finger over Chakotay’s saliva-slick lips and then trailed it through his beard, the coarse hair bristling under his fingertip.
“You,” he said at last, “should keep this.”
Chakotay flashed him a rare grin, one that showed off his teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I certainly have an incentive now,” he said dryly. He was still holding Tom loosely, with one hand flat on the small of his back. The warmth of Chakotay’s palm bled through Tom’s uniform top, and he suppressed a shiver. “We’ve got about five minutes before the bridge is alerted to the fact that one of the turbolifts is on emergency stop, by the way.”
Tom searched Chakotay’s face for a moment and, seeing the glint in his eyes, returned the grin.
“Five minutes?” he asked with a smirk, curling a hand around the back of Chakotay’s neck and bringing him in for another kiss. “I think I can work with that.”
Chakotay’s mouth was soft and his kisses were as gentle as they were thorough, leaving Tom’s lips bruised and tingling. And his last thought before Chakotay’s tongue robbed him of any further lucidity was that this was so much better than his dreams.