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Truths We Tell in the Dark

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Chakotay lay awake for what felt like hours afterward, though it wasn’t more than one or two. The planet his Maquis cell was sheltering on had two moons, and he could mark the time by their positions in the sky. It wasn’t long after midnight, local time, and he had only first sought Tom out three hours ago.


He had made a lot of questionable decisions in his life. Sleeping with the son of a Starfleet admiral while on the run was probably one of his poorer ones, though tonight Chakotay couldn’t find it in himself to regret it much. Burying himself in that tight, slick heat… muffling Tom’s moans with his hand… sinking his teeth into the meat of Tom’s shoulder when he came…


Chakotay’s cock twitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the memories away. Weeks now since their last night together, and they acted as though it had been years. It had felt like years. Neither of them had bothered to undress fully in their haste, and in the aftermath they hadn’t straightened their clothes. As usual, Tom fell asleep almost immediately. Chakotay lay there with his shirt hiked up past his stomach and his pants undone, watching the slow march of the moons across the ink-dark sky.


A year ago, he’d have been appalled at himself. Letting his guard down for a pretty face? Bedding someone who would turn them all in if it suited his purpose?


Yeah, well, fuck it. Tom was - well, Chakotay wouldn’t trust him worth a damn, but he was more than just a piece of ass. He was a hell of a pilot, and smarter than he let on. From the moment Tom had stumbled into their cell six weeks ago, Chakotay had been equal parts intrigued and lust-addled.


Chakotay imagined that in a different world, under different circumstances, they might have even been friends. But that wasn’t how the universe worked. Tom was an outlet, and nothing more. With any luck, in a few weeks he wouldn’t even be Chakotay’s problem anymore. There were other Maquis cells in need of good pilots, and Chakotay was willing to give this one up if it gave him some peace of mind.


“You don’t have to stay, you know.”


Tom’s voice startled him, though he fought down the reflex to jump. From his stillness and even breathing, he’d thought Tom was asleep. Evidently, Tom was just as good at faking it as he was.


“Whose bed did you sneak out of so you could be in mine?” Tom propped himself up on one elbow to look down at Chakotay. Moonlight caught his bare shoulder, the curve of his neck, the collar bone sharp enough to cut. “Not B’Elanna’s. She’d have your head for it. Ayala’s? No, he doesn’t seem your type.”


Tom drew his fingers down Chakotay’s breastbone, circled his navel once, and then drifted lower. He slid them through the coarse hair there before finally wrapping around Chakotay.


“Tom,” Chakotay said softly. A warning.


Tom’s movements stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”


Chakotay lifted his hips, sliding through the tight warmth of Tom’s hand. His cock filled. “Stop talking, yes. The rest, no.”


Tom’s answering grin was wicked. He slid down the length of Chakotay’s body and settled between his legs, and was blessedly silent while his lips were wrapped around Chakotay.


“Must be Seska, then,” Tom said later, after he’d swallowed and then kissed Chakotay through the aftershocks. After Chakotay had gotten him off, too, but with less finesse. “She’s on patrol tonight. It’s her bed you would be in, isn’t it?”


“Does it matter?” Chakotay knew he smelled like sex and sweat. There was a creek not far from their camp site. He would have to sneak around his own patrols to get to it so that he could wash off Tom’s scent before crawling into bed with Seska later.


“Not really,” Tom said, and ducked his head for another kiss.


Spirits, but Chakotay had missed the feel of a man beneath his hands, the weight of a cock in his mouth, the heady rush of it all. There seemed little point to monogamy in the Maquis, not when every moment could be their last.


Tom was right, though. Seska would kill him. Besides, would he ever choose someone like Tom over one of the bravest women he knew? For Tom, the Maquis were a convenience, a way to pay his bar tabs. He’d have been just as happy in bed with the Federation or the Cardassians, if it served his purpose.


“Tell you something, Paris.” Chakotay hiked up his pants and fastened them. He then scrubbed his hand through his hair, hoping it would fall in some semblance of order on his head. “You’re a good fuck. You’ve got that going for you, at least.”


The look Tom gave him could have been one of deep betrayal. Chakotay chose to believe it was the shadows instead, and that there wasn’t hurt in his voice when Tom said, “Goodnight, Chakotay.”