NC17

Summary: Written for the 2009 Secret Santa exchange. My request from csoulmatej was as follows:

I'd like a story with Kathryn and Paris. He's always had a crush on her, but she's just realizing that the reason he always seems to be her favorite is because she has feelings for him. They start a relationship in secret and are successful keeping it that way; except from Chakotay who catches Paris coming from Kathryn's quarters one night (he's on his way back from being with Seven). Chakotay gets angry over the whole thing. When Kathryn finds herself pregnant, they're afraid their secret will be out, but Chakotay's secret relationship with Seven comes to light and takes center stage...and then the fun begins because Paris remembers the punches Chakotay gave him after he found out about Kathryn and Tom. Something along these lines would be nice :-)

Many thanks to Kim J for the beta and to Corinna and audabee for the read throughs. But as always, I’ve fiddled with it so any mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: CBS/Paramount owns everything. No infringement intended.

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Chapter One

Tom stood in the shadows outside Engineering and watched as B’Elanna and her latest lover strolled arm in arm down the corridor. Their heads were tilted towards one another as they whispered and laughed; hips bumping, hands stroking, their excitement trailing behind them like a comet tail. After they disappeared around the corner and out of sight, Tom closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and slammed his fist against the bulkhead.

Fuck!

Flexing the fingers of his now sore hand, he flopped back against the grey wall and blasted an angry breath from between gritted teeth. So, B’Elanna’s latest bed-mate was Susan Nicoletti. His lip curled cynically. She was making short work of the female Engineering staff and he wondered what had happened to Mariah Henley – last week’s conquest. Maybe she was somewhere punching walls as well. The thought cheered him momentarily but goddamn it, the whole thing pissed him off something fierce. Nursing his damaged hand, he swung around and trudged up the corridor in the opposite direction to his ex-fiancé and her new lover.

B’Elanna’s change of heart and sexual predilections had come as something of a shock to Tom – although, when he thought about it, he should have realised that she would never have been happy in a traditional monogamous relationship. What galled him though was that he’d been more than willing to accommodate her penchant for female company. He wasn’t a prude and had never been squeamish about sexual experimentation; some of the things he and Harry had gotten up to over the years on the holodeck would have raised an eyebrow or two. In fact, if he hadn’t fallen head over heels in love with B’Elanna, he would have happily continued with his carefree and lascivious ways. But his love for her had been so all-consuming that he’d wanted to marry her and spend the rest of his life with her. More fool him, and like some pre-ordained and all-too-familiar kick in the nuts, his dreams had gone to hell, and here he was again, out in the cold, cut loose and left to pick up the pieces of his fucked up life.

God, he needed a drink.

It was early evening and most of the crew were either on duty or still in the Mess hall having dinner. Sandrine’s was blissfully quiet and it meant he could hide in the corner with his bottle of ‘80 proof’ without being disturbed - not that anyone was likely to come near him. On a vessel as small as Voyager, news travelled at warp speed and none of his crewmates would be surprised to find him drowning his sorrows in a bottle of authentic liquor; synthehol just didn’t cut it under these circumstances. Besides, they’d been on this ‘Voyage of the Damned’ for so long now that people were pretty adept at minding their own business – within reason. He just needed some time alone to get his head together; to shed this anger and resentment that was crawling like ants under his skin and gain some perspective on life’s latest calamity.

Punching something or someone had its appeal and it had crossed his mind to start a bar brawl but the thought of having to explain his behaviour to the captain, put up with the Doctor’s holier-than-thou pontificating or, god forbid, endure a reaming from Chakotay, put the brakes on that idea. He’d also been tempted to contact Harry and see if he wanted to revisit the Captain Proton program and do some damage to Chaotica and his henchmen but discarded that idea as well. Harry was seriously involved with the Delaney twins and with two demanding women to keep happy, he hardly saw his friend these days. It seemed that everyone was gleefully pairing off and he was the only one left to endure his own company.

The door to Sandrine’s swung open and he instantly amended that last thought. He wasn’t the only one. The Captain entered - alone - and looked around the room. She was wearing civilian clothes – a simple dark coloured dress that flattered her figure, her hair loose and curling softly around her face. It was a rare treat to see her like this and he watched her closely as her eyes scanned the room. Her gaze met his and he gave her full marks for hiding her surprise. Janeway nodded her head in recognition and Tom returned the gesture before sinking back into the shadows to allow her some space.

Gone were the days when you could expect Chakotay to be following two paces behind her. Tom wasn’t sure what had happened, but the command team’s relationship had suffered some sort of catastrophic blowout in recent months. Although he knew he shouldn’t feel this way, he was relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one aboard who was a failure in the relationship stakes.

The Captain and Chakotay seemed to be coping admirably with the change in dynamics and Tom felt envious of their composure and self-assurance.

But of course, to this day, no one was really sure if they’d ever been intimate. Perhaps not, and that’s why they appeared so unaffected, but after all of those years together, it was hard to imagine that they hadn’t been lovers. Then again, the Captain was renowned for being a stickler for the rules and Chakotay had always had her perched so high on a damned pedestal that Tom doubted the man could reach her with a ladder, let alone owned the cojones to take what he wanted.

Now, if he’d been in Chakotay’s shoes, it would have been a different story…

Tom watched Janeway through narrowed eyes, his vision hazy from alcohol. She was laughing with Sandrine after sending the gigolo scampering with a dagger-eyed look and a rapier sharp putdown. It was great to see her so relaxed and it showed on her face. Her smile was broad, her eyes sparkling and her mannerisms easy and carefree.

Blinking a couple of times, Tom leaned forward and looked more intently. Damn! When had he stopped noticing what a good-looking woman she was? Since B’Elanna had filled his sights, he supposed, but as Janeway rested one cheek of her ass on a barstool, his gaze made a slow and studied sweep over the outline of her hip, down her thigh and ending at her slender ankle. She lifted her arm and ran her fingers through her hair before laughing again. The sound was throaty and sexy and Tom could feel himself hardening. Shit! That was all he needed – a hard-on with no prospect of relief. It looked like he had a date with his right hand tonight. With a disgruntled sigh, he slumped lower in his chair.

His eyes, however, remained riveted to his captain as he reached for the bottle, poured himself another shot and tossed it down in one gulp. Damn she was beautiful - sassy and sexy, with the whole power trip thing as a perfect sweetener; the ‘Janeway package’ was a definite turn on.

Contrary to its usual numbing effects, the alcohol seemed to have un-addled his brain and he felt as though he was seeing clearly for the first time in months. He’d always known that Kathryn Janeway was easy on the eye – you’d have to be half dead not to notice - and he’d had a chronic crush on her early in the voyage, but Chakotay had marked her as his territory, and Tom had moved on to greener pastures – B’Elanna. But that was over now and he could see no reason why he couldn’t indulge himself and fantasize about remote possibilities.

He knew that he didn’t have a hope in hell. She thought of him as no more than her amusing and at-times adolescent pilot, and hooking up with him would have been the last thing on her mind. Although, if one wanted to split hairs, technically he’d had sex with her and spawned offspring – ‘spawned’ being the operative word. His warp ten stunt four years ago had been the cause of that unattractive mutation but it had always been one of his deep regrets that he couldn’t remember anything about the encounter – zilch. Even a vague memory of having amphibian sex with her would have been better than nothing, but he had no recollection at all.

He sighed again and watched as another one of the holo-gigolos tried to buy her a drink and insinuate himself into her personal space. Tom was surprised by the pang of jealousy that came spearing out of left field to hit him right under his sternum. What the hell was that about? He took a closer look at the bottle of whisky in front of him and wondered if he was drunker than he’d thought. He had no reason or right to be jealous. It was probably caused by the booze but his rigid cock told another story and over the years he’d come to trust it like a homing beacon.

His eyes latched onto Janeway again as he slowly sipped his drink and enjoyed the view. She possessed a sensuality and passion that simmered just below the surface, guiding every move of the outwardly spick and span Starfleet officer. These traits were well camouflaged by her command presence but now that he was paying closer attention, it all seemed glaringly obvious and incredibly seductive. From the toss of her head and the hint of pouting cleavage peeking above the bodice of her dress, to the slide of her hand down her thigh and the wanton tilt of her hips, she oozed sensuality. God, he would love to get his hands on her and he imagined for a moment leaning her back against the bar, pushing her dress up her legs before he slid her panties off and buried his face between her thighs.

She’d be sweet, he could tell, different from B’Elanna’s heady musk but just as intoxicating. Moving uncomfortably, he adjusted himself in his pants, and then felt a presence behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he found the first gigolo leaning up against the neighbouring booth, his eyes also on Janeway.

He leaned towards Tom and in a heavily accented, conspiratorial hiss, whispered in his ear. “She would make love like a lioness, that one – fierce and raw. She’s all heat and passion and it would be a sight to behold as she screamed your name and came apart your arms. You want her too, non?”

Tom glared at the spiv, then spoke quietly. “Computer, delete gigolo ‘one’ from Sandrine program.” In his inebriated state, he was having enough trouble maintaining rational thought without his holographic evil twin whispering in his ear. To make matters worse, Janeway stretched and arched her back, her breasts pressing against the material of her dress. There wasn’t anything particularly come-hither about the move; she was oblivious to his intense gaze but it was enough to send his imagination into a tailspin.

He shook his head, dragging his eyes away from her to try to break the spell, but just when he thought it was safe to return to his morose meanderings, Janeway slid from her stool and made her way to his table.

Shit!

He took a healthy swig of whisky and hunched forward, leaning his elbows on the table to hide the nightmare in his pants.

“Good evening, Tom. Would you mind if I joined you for a moment?” She pointed to the chair opposite him.

He made a half-hearted attempt to stand but for decorum’s sake, only rose an inch off his seat. “Evening, Captain. Sure, please, help yourself.”

She sat down and nodded towards the bottle. “Settling in for a long night, I see.”

He shrugged. “Day off and nothing else to do.”

He tried to hold her gaze but feared she would read the raw lust in his eyes, so he concentrated on the glass in his hand and shifted in his seat.

More agony followed as she reached forward and laid her hand on his forearm. “Are you all right, Tom? You know, I’m here if you need to talk.”

He smiled grimly and tried not to read anything into her touch; she was merely being his comradely superior officer. It was part of her job to ensure that all her underlings were in tiptop working condition. His competency at the helm could mean the difference between surviving an attack and complete destruction. It wasn’t something a captain would want to risk, especially if she thought her star pilot was drunk and/or suicidal. He appreciated her attention to detail but what he really wanted to do was throw her across the table and screw her senseless; somehow he didn’t think her comradely support would venture that far.

Common sense prevailed however, and instead of grabbing the bodice of her dress and rending it in two so he could slather her breasts with kisses and bites, he sat back a little, nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Captain, but I’m fine. I just need a day or two.”

She smiled kindly and he silently congratulated himself on deflecting her suspicions, but she proved, yet again, that she was no fool; with an amused quirk of her eyebrow, she gave him a telling look.

“Nice try, Mr. Paris but you look terrible and if you’re going to drink all of that, I’d like you to see the Doctor before turning up for your next duty shift.”

Before he could rein in his reaction, he snapped a salute and a harsh, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He regretted his outburst almost immediately. The hurt look on her face was enough to make him back pedal. “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that…” He shrugged. “…I don’t quite know what to do with myself.” He felt pathetic and childish but on the other hand, it had fixed his other more immediate problem. His humiliation had made his cock wilt and any thoughts of sex were dashed.

She patted his arm again, but then withdrew it quickly. “I know how you feel Tom but it will get better.”

He was beginning to resent her interference now. Meaningless platitudes weren’t going to help him; they just filled the awkward spaces. “With all due respect, Captain, how the hell do you know how I feel?”

She sat back and crossed her arms, not the least bit intimidated by his belligerent attitude.

“Because, Mr. Paris, I was in exactly your position a few years ago. The man I was engaged to married someone else.” She was quiet for a long moment as her eyes spoke about a more recent loss and as if to confirm his supposition, she quietly added, “I know much more about rejection and loss than you could possibly imagine.”

She took a deep breath and Tom was surprised to see a shimmer of tears in her eyes but before he could say anything she slipped back into command mode and, in a voice that could cut duranium, she chewed his ass. “I’m willing to overlook your insubordination in light of the circumstances. But that’s the last time, Mr. Paris.” She then smiled slightly to soften the harshness of her words. “Got it?”

Meeting her eyes, he kept his look genuinely sincere and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. And again, I apologise.”

She gave him a reassuring smile and made a move to stand.

Tom didn’t want her to go, not now that they’d finally found some common ground. He said the first thing that came into his head. “Can I offer you a drink, Captain? It’s the good stuff.”

He watched as she mulled over the question, presumably weighing up the propriety of drinking liquor with one of her subordinates, but much to his delight, she nodded and took her seat again. Tom gestured to Sandrine for another glass.

The French proprietress wended her way to the table and after placing the shot glass in front of Janeway, winked at Tom. “Bonne chance, mon chère.”

Tom pretended not to understand Sandrine’s meaning and instead gave his Captain a bright-eyed smile as he filled her glass and then his own. After placing the bottle back on the table, he lifted his drink in a toast. “To broken hearts.”

Janeway shook her head. “To surviving a broken heart.”

He conceded with a nod, tossed back his shot and then waited for her to drink. Unable to hide his surprise, he watched her throw back the shot in one go. He’d expected her to take a small sip, screw up her face in distaste and excuse herself, but her expression remained unchanged until she smiled at his reaction and offered an explanation.

“The Janeways have always loved their whisky and, as much as it pains me to say it, I’ve drunk rotgut a lot worse than this in my time. At the Academy, we even had our own still and some of our ‘brews’ were closer to plasma residue than liquor but it’s left me with a tritanium palate.”

He grinned at the thought of Janeway tossing back shots as a cadet and briefly wondered what she’d really been like. When he was kid, his father had talked about her endlessly, almost to the point where he’d come to loathe the mention of her name but he’d known even then that it wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations. Now, he wanted to know the real Janeway; not the one whose exceptional abilities his father had lauded all those years ago, but the smartass Janeway who could throw back shots with the best of them.

Tom’s challenge would be to search out the hidden qualities of that younger Kathryn Janeway in the woman who sat opposite him now.

Feisty was the first word that came to mind, and a damned handful as well, he imagined. Not that much had changed over the years. She was still both of those things as far as he could tell and those dichotomies of personality intrigued him. All that beauty, intelligence and unbridled spirit rolled into one package - it was as intoxicating as the liquor they were drinking.

His thoughts must have reflected in his face because suddenly the tone of their exchange altered; Janeway pushed her glass away and stood up. “I’d better get back to work. Thank you for the drink, Lieutenant, and I’ll see you on the Bridge.”

Tom only made it halfway out of his chair before she’d turned and, with a wave to Sandrine, vanished through the doors.

Slumping back into his seat with a thud, he cursed. “Shit!”

She’d known what he’d been thinking and it had obviously appalled her to the point where her only option was to flee.

Good one, Tom.

He downed another shot but his heart wasn’t in it anymore, so he grabbed the bottle and began weaving his way through the tables to the exit. He had an awful feeling that his dreams tonight were going to be one long Janeway fantasy. Then again, perhaps he’d have better luck getting hammered in the privacy of his own room and he’d simply sink into drunken oblivion. It was worth a try.

He stepped into the corridor only to be confronted by a sight that he’d never imagined in his wildest dreams. Seven and Chakotay were entering holodeck two – together. The first officer’s arm was draped possessively around the drone’s waist, his fingers splayed across her ribcage under her ample breast; her arm was wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder.

So, that was what had happened to the captain’s relationship with Chakotay. The old man had also moved on to greener pastures – in his case, very green. Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.

Tom wasn’t oblivious to Seven’s charms – both of them. Huffing cynically, he doubted that there was a man – or woman for that matter – who wasn’t aware of them, thanks to her skin-tight bodysuits that left nothing to the imagination. Not that Tom had anything against eye-candy – far from it - but the fact remained that there was a gaping imbalance in such a relationship, the most glaringly obvious one being the age difference. Chakotay was old enough to be her father, which wouldn’t be a problem if the issue were merely the difference in chronological age but their ideals, their experiences, their spirituality – or rather her total lack of it - were poles apart.

Seven was not without her good points – she was handy in a crisis - but there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in that Borg body and although opposites might attract, this was just ridiculous. Tom didn’t give them a hope in hell of going the distance and if this was some sort of pathetic mid-life crisis aberration on Chakotay’s part, then he deserved the nightmare that was destined to ensue. The man was a fool to throw away what he’d had with Janeway to merely cop a feel of those babies. Tom’s respect for the man diminished tenfold and knew that the majority of the crew would feel the same way. This didn’t bode well.

He just hoped that the old man came to his senses before any damage was done. And, with an irreverent snort, Tom tucked this latest piece of information away and headed home.

< ~ >

Kathryn arrived back at her quarters and absentmindedly keyed in her door code. Her thoughts had been preoccupied all the way back from Sandrine’s. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened down there, but in the time it took for her to knock back a shot of whisky, the dynamic of her relationship with her pilot had somehow shifted. She’d seen it in his eyes and could feel it in the heat of her skin and the throb in her lower belly.

Damn!

Tom Paris! It was ludicrous. Was she so desperate for attention that she would even consider this?

He was her conn officer, a member of her senior staff and although his rank precluded a close friendship, he was someone with whom she’d always felt a certain rapport. Chakotay had once referred to him as her ‘personal reclamation project’ and she’d resented the implication of favouritism at the time but maybe he was right. Long before she’d spoken to Admiral Patterson about offering Tom a position as a civilian observer on Voyager’s maiden mission, she’d sensed a connection to him.

Perhaps it was because he was Owen’s son and she felt in a way responsible for his troubles as a young man. Not that she’d had anything to do with them directly, but after she’d lost her father, Owen had taken her under his wing - probably to the detriment of his relationship with his own son.

Tom had never been able to compete with her accomplishments. And although she was close to ten years his senior, Kathryn was aware that during his adolescence, his father consistently held her up as a paragon of Starfleet virtue and work ethics. How could the kid compete with that? It was a wonder Tom didn’t hate her. The fact that he’d been able to see past his father’s partiality and work with her for the last almost seven years was a testament to his inherent goodness. And he was a good man.

He was also troublesome, annoying at times, but invariably the life of the party. Voyager would be a very different place without him, certainly not as much fun; the thought of some of his past antics made her smile.

In many ways, he’d made living on Voyager tolerable. Almost from the first day, he’d taken it upon himself to find new and often outlandish ways to keep the crew occupied and amused. Although Neelix wore the moniker of morale officer, it was, in reality, Tom Paris who truly owned that handle.

He’d taken Harry under his wing from the very first day, befriended Kes and Neelix, and when the newly liberated Seven had told Kathryn that Tom had offered to help her adjust to life on Voyager, she’d been so proud of him. Because of his past, he shared with these ‘outsiders’ an innate understanding of being the outcast.

However, underneath all the bluff and bravado, he was also a courageous man who had laid his life on the line for his ship and crewmates many times, winning over even his most antagonistic opponents – Chakotay being one of them. The relationship between her First Officer and pilot had mellowed over the years and, although they were hardly bosom buddies, they seemed to have developed a grudging respect for one another.

As hard as he tried to hide it, Tom was one of the best and bravest men she knew.

Kathryn frowned. B’Elanna was a fool.

Kathryn wandered into her bedroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Lines and wrinkles that hadn’t been apparent seven years ago were becoming more and more noticeable. The stress and worry of captaining a lost ship through unknown space were taking their toll and time was marching on at an unrelenting pace. It seemed she’d merely blinked and was now in her mid-forties.

Where had the time gone and what did the future hold for her? For many years, she’d imagined eventually making a life out here with Chakotay, but that dream had slowly faded. Too many years of constant strain and ponderous decision-making had taken all the joy out of their relationship. After a recent incident with a spatial rift, he’d become more distant than ever. These days, during off duty periods, they barely spoke a word to one another and sadly, neither of them seemed too distraught over the loss. Her foray into Sandrine’s this evening had been an attempt to make contact with some of the crew to help fill the lonely hours that she and Chakotay used to share.

The man in question was also busy tonight - with Seven. She’d seen them earlier in the evening, walking side by side down the corridors of deck six, trying, unsuccessfully, to appear businesslike and not as though they couldn’t wait to get their hands on one another. That had once been her place by his side, but not any more. Although Chakotay wasn’t aware that she knew, and she planned to keep it that way, her knowledge of that particular liaison had put a grievous dent in their friendship.

The reminder of Chakotay’s betrayal had made her even more determined to get on with her life and forge new friendships; however, she hadn’t expected to see Tom Paris in the French tavern, but it stood to reason. He was nursing a broken heart and what better place to go than his old haunt.

Her thoughts drifted back to their encounter. She’d been willing to ignore his presence until Sandrine had very helpfully pointed out the fact that he was staring at her. Kathryn pretended not to notice, but small frissons of delight had trickled down her spine at the thought of him watching her from the shadows. It had been years since anyone had looked at her in that way and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t thrill her a little. What woman wouldn’t want a younger man to find her attractive? Kathryn wasn’t as cold and detached as she appeared and longed for the touch of another being - warm loving hands, moist lips, hot breath dancing over her skin…

Kathryn shook her head to short circuit her errant imaginings. These thoughts were dangerous but as she ignored the warning bells, she closed her eyes and tried to envision what sort of a lover Tom would be. Would he be gentle or would his time with B’Elanna have spurred him to be more aggressive? The idea enthralled her and as hard as she tried, the dull throb in her belly became more demanding.

Kathryn pulled her dress over her head and slipped out of her underwear. A blush of arousal coloured the skin above her breasts and her nipples instantly hardened on exposure to the cool air of her quarters.

Glancing over her shoulder towards the bed, she sighed as she turned back to the dresser and opened the drawer. She hunted amongst her underwear until she found her all-too familiar dildo. It had been her constant companion early in the journey but not so much these days. The cold comfort of self-fulfilment had waned very quickly.

But there was a time and a place for such things, and tossing back the covers, she lay down on her bed.

It had been months since she’d pleasured herself, but for the first time in many years, the object of her fantasy would not be that of her first officer. His foolhardy defection had deadened the desire that had been the fuel for her erotic thoughts since arriving in the Delta Quadrant. It saddened her for a moment but she shrugged off her melancholy and instead tried to envisage a tousle of blond hair, blue eyes and pale slender hands playing in and over her body.

Her fingers traced around her puckered nipples and then slid down over the slight round of her belly and through her curls to slip through the slick wetness of her folds. She teased her clitoris with insistent strokes, jolting and gasping as she pinched and circled the sensitive nub, her arousal quickly building. Running the tip of her dildo between her wet folds, she eased it inside her, gritting her teeth as she pushed past the tightness of long unused muscles.

Kathryn savoured the feeling of fullness and the tingling stretch of flesh. After closing her eyes, she tried to imagine Tom above her but her thoughts were disjointed. The images flicked from blue eyes to brown and from fair hair to dark. Concentrating on the sensations rather than her fantasy lover, Kathryn increased her pace. Suddenly piercing blue eyes and a winning smile filled her mind and within moments, she arched off the bed, the panting gasps of her climax filling the quiet of her quarters.

As the tremors eased, Kathryn rolled to the side and looked out the viewport above her bed, before burying her head in her pillow to muffle a frustrated scream. What the hell was she doing? This had to stop this instant. It was insanity to fantasise about Tom Paris, let alone contemplate having sex with the man. There was no way in all the worlds of the Delta Quadrant that she could do it. After keeping Chakotay at bay for all these years, she could hardly turn around and sleep with Paris. Why the thought had even entered her head in the first place was beyond her. It was plain crazy.

She climbed off the bed and trudged towards the bathroom, tossing her dildo in the recycler as she passed. Removing the temptation for a repeat performance would be part of her new therapy and a cold shower would suffice as a wake up call. Afterwards she would go back to work and return to her lonely lover-less existence.

Without looking at herself again, she stepped into the shower cubicle and with a gasp let the cold water douse the flames of her reckless thoughts.

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