GENTLEMEN'S AGREEMENT

Title: Gentlemen's Agreement, 3/16 
Author: Jaye (Copyright May 2002) 
Codes: C/P NC-17

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Voyager and all related characters and
concepts  are the property of Paramount. No infringement is
intended or profit  made. This is NC-17 for m/m sex. If you
aren't interested (or aren't old  enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going. Please
keep  the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive. E-mail is 
reader8901@fastmail.fm

Summary: An alien royal makes Chakotay an offer he can't refuse.

Note: Slightly AU, P/T never happened and I don't know how canon 
Chakotay dresses off duty. Also, Tom's 30, Chakotay 39.

***************

PART THREE


/He's hopeless. Absolutely hopeless./ Sisryn *knew* she was the
same  age as Nedal, but at this moment she was fighting the urge
to rush across  Voyager's holodeck and grab his ear, pulling him
out of sight so she  could deliver the stinging lecture on
proper behavior his mother  obviously forgot. Then again,
knowing how single-minded the Regent could be,  perhaps he *had*
received the sermon and simply ignored it.

"We're lucky everyone else from our ship is too busy eating to
notice  this little display," Milady muttered in her ear. "He's
practically  sharing BlondieBoy's uniform. If the pride leaders
saw him right now, it  would crash that sky-high price you're
charging for Privilege."

Sisryn turned to the older woman, frustration in every line of
her  body. "I am well aware of that, Milady, but what do you
suggest I do? And  don't say 'speak to the Regent'. I've seen
him kill with one swipe of  those claws. I'm way too young to be
making my trip to the Celestial  plane."

"So you'll send me forth to brave Nedal's temper, Sisryn?"
Milady  regarded the Chief Consul with amusement. "So kind of
you to allow me this  opportunity to test my aging reflexes."

"I'm just hoping he'll listen to the voice of experience. It's
pretty  clear he's not hearing any of *my* warnings. At least
about BlondieBoy.  He's pretty much ignoring BlondieBorg now."

"Very well. Keep an eye on the Larat while I try to talk some
sense  into our misguided leader." Milady and Sisryn shared a
grim smile, squared  their shoulders and separated to acquire
their targets.

***************

When Tom had stepped onto the holodeck for his mandatory
appearance for  the Rutalis' first visit aboard Voyager, he
would have sworn his day  could not get any worse. He was wrong.

His troubles had started yesterday, actually, almost the instant
he  left Chakotay staring after him in the DaySpring massage
room. He'd lied;  he hadn't showered, just performed a quick
cleanup, dressed and fled  back to his cabin. To sit and brood.

He couldn't bring himself to wash away the remnants of the oil.
That  fresh, subtle scent surrounded him like the lightest of
veils, teasing  Tom to remember his session with the shockingly
sexy Commander. His body  continued to hum with pleasure far
longer than he expected. But in  retrospect the whole experience
was disturbing.

Chakotay had been right about Tom's choice of lovers. Tom always 
preferred to be the stronger partner in the *relationship*, no
matter how  loosely the term was applied. He needed to be in
control. If Tom ever felt  that sense of security threatened, he
ended the affair lickety-split.  With women, it was usually
about the time they started making vague  jealous noises about
exclusivity. With men, it was much more  straightforward: Tom
dumped a guy as soon as talk turned to equality and topping 
*him*.

He didn't even know what caused that gut-level need to flee at
the  thought of being taken. He'd never bottomed, so it's not as
though he'd had  a bad experience. As a golden-haired,
silver-tongued cadet young Mr.  Paris had been propositioned by
plenty of men. But the only offers he  ever accepted were from
the ones who wanted his cock, not his ass. He made  the same
choices as an officer, and even during those rather shady days 
before the Maquis.

His time with the rebels, and in prison, had hardened his
resolve. In  both situations he'd had to do too much fast
talking, and fighting, to  keep control of his body and
circumstances. It brought home to him the  truth that the bottom
in a male-male relationship was a far too  vulnerable position
for Thomas Eugene Paris to ever put himself in.

His hookups on Voyager were much the same. He had only selected 
partners who were so eager to land the Lieutenant that they
would do so on his  terms. Anyone who looked the take-charge
type in the bedroom was firmly  dismissed from his mind, even
from his fantasies.

Then along came Chakotay. Hot, hunky, sensual and smoldering, he 
clearly deserved a starring role in any X-rated dream Tom could
come up with.  And that was part of the problem.

Even though Chakotay had supposedly come to Tom to gain some
experience  as a bottom (it seemed highly unlikely Nedal ever
let *anyone* have the  upper hand, especially between the
sheets), the younger man was very  much feeling the weaker half
of the duo.

The touch of those bronzed hands had been extremely arousing,
but also  masterful. It had been a perfect demonstration of how
much Chakotay was  in command, of both Tom and the situation.
The blond wanted to hunch  into his couch and hide when he
recalled the wild things he would have  promised Chakotay during
that kiss. That he hadn't had the  opportunity---or breath---to
do so was Chakotay's decision, not his own.

Even more unsettling than the overwhelming physical sensations
had been  the mental realization. Tom had wanted Chakotay so
much that he would  have been willing to bed him on any terms.
And that was *not* a position  of power.

So after a few hours of tossing and turning, Tom had appeared at 
Chakotay's door before shift. He hemmed and hawed for a few
minutes, but  finally admitted that he could not go through with
their arrangement.

Tom had then taken a deep breath and prepared to give a 
less-than-honest (and completely unrevealing) reason for his
withdrawal. "I can't,  because---"

"There's no need to explain."

Tom couldn't interpret the tone. However, the younger man
clearly saw  the banked fires in Chakotay's eyes wink out in an
instant. Though that  heated, predatory gaze had singed Tom's
nerves, having it disappear so  completely was like a door
slamming shut. The sudden shock of being  left out in the cold
almost made him change his mind.

Instead, he screwed up his courage and continued, though he felt
gauche  now facing the interested, but reserved, expression
Chakotay usually  showed him. "If you'd like me to suggest
someone else...?"

"Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary. I'd
appreciate  your continued discretion, though." Chakotay's calm,
professional air  was almost enough to make Tom question his
memory of the man's  overpowering sexuality. For one surreal
moment he entertained the notion of  grabbing Chakotay and
shaking---or kissing---that fire back to life. Then he  sternly
reminded himself of how helpless he'd been under the spell of 
the older man and quickly retreated.

It felt chilly on the bridge that morning without a burning gaze 
tracing the contours of his body. Instead, Chakotay's regard was
the  nonthreatening mix of friendship and camaraderie the men
had achieved over the  years. Tom's mind wandered from the Conn
as guilt and doubts began to  creep in. He wondered what
Chakotay would do now. And, much more  importantly, who he would
choose to do it with.

Tom's mental conversation, actually shouting match, pro and con
for  changing his mind yet again had left him a bundle of
nerves. By the time  he stepped into the holographic re-creation
of a garden with a  Greek-style colonnaded pavilion, he was
convinced that the wisest course of  action would be to secrete
himself in a very cold shower until he stopped  thinking about
his fiery Titan altogether.

He'd slinked along the thick Ionic columns edging the mosaic
floor,  then wandered around the garden. He told himself he was
trying to keep a  low profile, but he couldn't seem to stop his
eyes from seeking out a  particular red-and-black-clad figure.

He'd finished one circuit when he sensed eyes on his body. Not
the  heated caress of Chakotay's smoky brown orbs, but a sharp
stab of  possession. The unknown, unnerving watcher seemed to
stake Tom in place like a  goat laid out as bait for a
tiger---his or hers for the taking.

Tom whirled and nearly smacked noses with the Rutali Regent. He 
stumbled back a step, only to have Nedal move forward to brush
their chests  together. Tom continued to back up until he was
pressed against a tree.  "Wha-What are you doing?" he garbled in
an ever-so-slight panic. It was  clear this man, who was as tall
as himself but built like Chakotay,  didn't even bother to pay
lip service to the notion of personal space. Tom  swallowed; he
truly did feel like prey.

"You would have been my Chosen, golden one, my Larat," the deep
voice  rumbled as one finger, claw sheathed, trailed up the seam
of Tom's  jacket.

Tom knew that officially, all Voyager's crew had been told was
that  Chakotay had been named the liaison to the Rutali, and
that his position  required the wearing of the crystal seal. He
decided to play dumb. "I'm  not really qualified to be an
ambassador," he said, trying to ease his  way around the solid
figure.

Suddenly that talon snicked out and snagged the Starfleet issue 
material, pressing through the layers to prick Tom's skin. The
Regent's  expression was stomach-knottingly fierce. "There would
have been no room for  negotiation, my sleek goband," he
growled, using his other hand to  enclose his captive's jaw.
"But you would have served me well." His claws  convinced Tom of
the wisdom of holding still. "Very well, indeed. In  every
capacity."

Tom couldn't believe the sense of déjà vu. He was half a galaxy
away  from Auckland, and yet here was a Delta Quadrant bully who
thought he  could get what he wanted from Thomas Eugene Paris
just by looming over  him. Nedal was going to find out he had
underestimated his "golden one"  just as much as the prison
heavies had. Long pale hands unconsciously  clenched into fists
as the streetwise pilot mentally prepared attacks and  defensive
moves. The claws would be a problem, but Tom was prepared to 
fight dirty. He was determined not to be intimidated, especially
by  this self-important overgrown alley cat.

Just as he opened his mouth to deliver a blistering verbal
assault, he  stopped in shock, mouth hanging open. A slender,
fine-boned hand  reached over Nedal's shoulder and firmly
gripped the Rutali's ear, giving it  a hard yank.

Nedal suppressed a howl as he was pulled down to Milady's level.
"You,  Sir, are coming with me. I think it's time we had a
little chat." And  with that she led the Regent away like a
recalcitrant five-year-old. Tom  did notice, however, that the
elderly Rutali made sure no one else  could see her disciplinary
measure as she dragged Nedal into the maze of  plants.

***************

After several minutes Tom's nerves steadied and he shook off the
rush  of adrenaline. /At least now I know who to avoid/ Tom
thought as he  walked back to the pavilion with its tables of
refreshments. He changed  course when he caught the flash of his
elusive quarry disappearing around  a hedge.

Approaching from a different angle, Tom peered around a corner
to see  the back of the Rutali Chief Consul. She was making her
way toward  Chakotay, who was seated at a stone bench surrounded
by flowers. A single  bronzed finger was lightly stroking a
pale, delicate blossom with waxy  leaves. He seemed lost in
thought, but looked up with a polite smile and  started to stand
when he heard Sisryn's steps. Intrigued, Tom circled  around to
find a hiding place close to the pair, then hunkered down to 
eavesdrop.

"Forgive me, Larat, if I disturb you," Sisryn said, bowing.

"Not at all," the Commander said, gesturing to the spot beside
him as  he resettled. "And please, just call me Chakotay."

"Then I am Sisryn," she replied, then watched him a moment. "You
are  not comfortable with any of this, are you?"

Chakotay's hand automatically touched the seal laying upon his
breast.  He sighed, "No, I'm not. But there doesn't seem to be
much I can do  about it."

"Why is that?" came the sympathetic question.

Chakotay surveyed the Rutali. "If I tell you, will that have any
effect  on how I am judged as Larat?"

"A wise question. I can only tell you that honesty is never
penalized."  Sisryn leaned over to lay a hand on both of
Chakotay's, which had moved  to twist together over one knee.
"Talk to me."

The bronze man nodded and gave Sisryn a quick smile. Tom
strained to  hear, extremely interested in what had disheartened
the usually  unflappable Commander.

"I'm not used to sex being treated like a commodity. Or viewing
myself  that way, either. But...I wanted to do my best for the
crew, so I  sought some help from a colleague. It didn't go
well, but I'm not quite sure  why."

"Was he...discouraged...by the instructions in the tome?" Sisryn
asked,  tilting her head.

"No, at least I don't think so." Chakotay sighed again. "I tried
to  show my friend he could trust me in an intimate situation.
Instead, I  think I scared him off."

The Rutali smiled and tried to inject some levity. "Don't give
me  details; they'd probably be too juicy to keep to myself."
She sobered at  Chakotay's dejected silence. "What makes you
think you did something  wrong?" she questioned softly.

"I knew that the reason he was going to give me for backing out 
wouldn't have been the truth, so I'm just describing my gut
feelings. I'm not  sure if I can explain it." Chakotay turned to
face the Consul fully,  spreading his hands. "My parents taught
me that the basis of a  relationship, of any kind, is trust."

Chakotay lifted Sisryn's hand and cradled it, warming to his
theme. "I  don't know what's true among your people, but in
human relationships a  woman is usually not as strong as a man.
So for her to place  herself---body, soul, spirit---into a
lover's hands is an act of courage, and a  gift. One that must
be honored. That gift also has to be earned, by  spending time
sharing thoughts and feelings, getting to know one another. 
Building trust."

Sisryn, and Tom, were barely remembering to breathe, so wrapped
up were  they in the atmosphere Chakotay was weaving with his
words. "What about  two men together?" she whispered.

"I don't know." Chakotay said, gently squeezing, then releasing
the  tawny hand. "But I'm still more powerfully built, so I
tried to find a way  that didn't need a lot of words, or time,
to show that I could be  trusted. That I wouldn't use my
strength against my partner, even in the  heat of passion."
Chakotay's lips quirked ruefully. "I failed. So now I'm  not
sure what to do."

"I'm sorry, Chakotay. I wish there was a way I could help. It is
a pity  your colleague could not see you as I do, strength and
gentleness  blended." She blushed. "I know I would trust you,
and welcome your passion."

Chakotay blushed himself, and gave Sisryn a soft, grateful
smile.  "Thank you. That's very comforting to know, so you've
helped a great deal."

He stood, holding an arm out for the Rutali minister. "And now
we'd  best return before we're missed. Please let me get you a
drink." He  grinned. "Embarrassing conversations always make me
thirsty."

Sisryn chuckled. "Me as well. So lead on, Sir." They disappeared
into  the greenery.

Tom remained in his hiding place, too stunned to move. He
couldn't  believe he'd read Chakotay, and the situation, so
wrong. The Titan wasn't  trying to prove his dominance; he was
attempting to demonstrate his  trustworthiness. Tom had been so
focused on that demanding mouth that he'd  misinterpreted the
generous hands. They had stayed completely passive  the whole
time the two men kissed. Tom also remembered their tender 
treatment of his body beforehand.

Tom suddenly felt ashamed. He had let his own fears drive him
into  breaking his promise to help Chakotay. It seemed the older
man had been  honest when he said he wasn't interested in other
men. The Commander  didn't want the name of a substitute because
he wasn't going to approach  anyone else. He'd prepare for Nedal
as best he could, all by himself.

Tom sat among the plants for quite a while, remembering his
times alone  with Chakotay since they'd arrived in Rutali space,
and everything they  had said. What finally got the blond moving
was the memory of  Chakotay's low voice saying he wanted his
first time to be with Tom. Not with a  stranger.

With the unfolding of his lanky limbs Tom quickly stood, brushed 
himself off and asked the computer for his soon-to-be lover's
location. His  Titan was alone in Holodeck One. Tom smiled and
headed for the exit.  /Ready or not, Chakotay, here I come./

***************

Nedal gripped Milady's wrist, very carefully, and flung her hand
off  his ear. "That's enough," he growled, once again able to
stand upright.

Milady looked around the concealing veil of vegetation. It was
as  private as she could get. "I agree," she said, golden eyes
flashing as she  stepped up to the Regent and poked him with one
finger. "Your behavior  this evening has been quite enough."

"I am not interested in a lecture, Milady. Sisryn has already
dared my  wrath on the subject of appearances. The Larat does
not begin his  duties until we reach the homeworld. Until that
time, you will leave me in  peace to pursue whomever I wish." He
loomed over her shorter figure.

Milady thrust out one hip and crossed her arms, a
three-dimensional  portrait of the unimpressed. "You seem to
forget, *Regent*, that there are  many eyes upon you, and have
been since Chakotay accepted the seal. The  royal coffers are
overflowing with payments for Privilege---and the  bidding will
become even more fierce when we reach Ruta and the rest of  the
court gets a glimpse of your dark-haired prize."

The Rutali woman broke her pose, crossing the small space. "If
you are  caught hunting another---especially one of your usual
weak-willed  blonds---the less discerning among our people may
begin to question your  competence. They will doubt your
decisions on matters of state, since you  are undisciplined
enough to prefer the pilot simply because of his hair  color."

"That is not the only reason," Nedal snapped huffily. "*You*
selected  Chakotay. He is not my choice. The man doesn't show
the proper respect  for my position."

"Wrong. He has been the soul of courtesy. He simply does not
display  the groveling deference your bootlicking sycophants
have accustomed you  to." An arch smile curled Milady's lips.
"You're afraid the Larat will  be too much of a challenge. You
go to BlondieBoy because you believe  he'll roll over and take
whatever you deign to give him."

Milady strolled back to Nedal and whispered in his ear, "I
wouldn't be  so sure of that."

Her eyes hardened as she leaned back and clutched the Regent's
seal.  "You *will* control yourself around these humans. This is
not a game for  your amusement. The Larat serves the Rutali
leader, but the joining  also fulfills a purpose among the
people. One that you have yet to  comprehend. So watch your
step, Nedal. You've been given fair warning."

Nedal ripped the crystal from Milady's hand. "*I* am the Regent.
And if  you, or the sniveling Chief Consul, crosses me again I
will remind you  how I have treated others who sought to usurp
my power." He moved back,  still radiating menace. His voice was
silky but cold. "Now *you* have  been given fair warning."

He left. Milady slumped against a stone urn and considered her
next  move.

***************

Chakotay was startled when the holodeck doors opened. He had
left  instructions for a privacy lock with a single
exception---Tom Paris. He'd  accepted the younger man's
rejection with outward composure and quickly  smothered the
desire the blond had sparked in him. Still, a small corner  of
his mind held out hope that Tom would change his mind.
Apparently  that wish was not in vain. He watched the lean
figure approach with just  a notch less than its usual
nonchalance, and tried to make his own body  relax.

Tom slowly walked across the room, surveying the opulent
surroundings.  They were in a suite more lushly appointed than
anything he had ever  imagined, much less experienced. The high
ceilings were molded with plant  and animal figures, all chased
in gold. The walls were lined with a  ruby brocade that matched
the velvet cushions adorning gilt chairs and  settees with
heavily carved legs. Floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall 
showed the dark of night beyond their leaded panes. Drapes of
the same  shade and material as the wall coverings were tied
back with heavy gold  ropes, their tassels dangling almost to
the floor. A wall of doors  paneled with mirrors hinted at
excessive closet space, while more ornately  framed and
gold-leafed looking glasses topped a huge bureau and vanity.

Light was provided by large wall sconces that looked like cupped
Rutali  hands, and small lamps that cast radiant puddles around
end tables  scattered among the other furniture.

Tom finally looked at the bed. He figured it could fit about
five  comfortably, noticing the sheen of patterned satin that
again perfectly  matched the walls. The carved headboard
continued the motif of the ceiling  moldings, and two enormous
bolsters stretched across the top of the  bed. /Ah, I guess it
only sleeps two after all./

The floor struck the only discordant note. Tom expected richly
veined  marble or a carpet of ankle-deep plush. Instead a
shining hardwood floor  greeted his questioning gaze.

"Sisryn gave me the specs for the Larat's chambers. I changed
the  floor," Chakotay answered Tom's expression. "I was going to
practice my  'artistic display to stir the interest of the
court' mentioned in the  manual." He continued more hesitantly,
"since you said you couldn't..."

"I changed my mind," Tom stated, lifting his chin. "Do you have
a  problem with that?"

"Of course not," the older man quickly reassured, shoulders
easing with  relief then lifting in inquiry. "Um, what should we
do, then?"

Tom shuffled, rather uncertain. His resolve had carried him from
one  holodeck to the other, then dropped him with a thud. "Well,
I  guess...supplies!" he snapped his fingers. "There are a few
supplies we need." He  looked at the walls. "Does this place
have a replicator?"

Chakotay swallowed at the thought of what kind of materials Tom
might  be talking about. "Through there," he pointed to an open
doorway. "I  installed a small hallway between here and the
bathroom. It has a  replicator and refresher."

Tom looked at him quizzically. "Why would you need that?"

"I threw my uniform in there. I figured by the time I picked a 
performance outfit, I could re-dress and then replicate the
costume."

"So what you're wearing right now is...holographic? You're
actually  naked?" Tom examined the loose beige draperies
swathing the powerful form.  /Holographic, huh? This
*definitely* has potential./

"Yes." Chakotay said briskly, a little disturbed by the
laserlike beams  trying to pierce his photonic covering. "If
you're staying, you might  as well do the same. Just ask the
computer for, I don't know, a robe or  something."

Tom headed for the hallway and quickly complied, shedding his
clothes  to return in a silk garment that matched his eyes.
Chakotay blinked at  the vision of ivory, gold and blue, then
quickly diverted his gaze to  the items in the slender hands.
"Supplies?"

"Yep," Tom said, laying towels and oil on the bedspread. Then he
hopped  onto the enormous mattress and laid back, crossing his
bare ankles and  threading his fingers behind his head, propped
on one of the pillows.  He looked Chakotay up and down again.
"That sack you're wearing isn't an  option, right? 'Cause that's
not going to stir the court's interest, or  anything else."

Chakotay stiffened, then accepted the younger man's honesty. He
gave an  embarrassed shrug. "I guess not. Computer, initiate
clothing rotation  Chakotayperformance, with changes on my
mark."

/Now this is what I call a fashion show./ Tom had Chakotay walk
each  outfit back and forth and pivot...slowly. There were
several suits,  charcoal, tan, navy; a few button-down shirts
(oddly, some frilled) paired  with dress slacks. They all fit
well---certainly more tailored than  anything the Commander
usually sported. But Tom dismissed each ensemble as  just not
quite right. The closest was dark trousers topped with a red 
silk shirt, its collar slightly opened to expose the necklace of
the  Larat.

"Well, that's it." Chakotay said, throwing up his hands. "I'll
probably  have to do some research, or go back to the drawing
board."

"Why don't you perform for me, and maybe I can make a suggestion
based  on the act." Tom said reasonably. He was in a good mood,
viewing the  talent portion of the evening as a prelude to the
swimsuit---and  less---phase of his private one-man beauty
pageant.

"All right." Chakotay agreed and instructed, "Computer, set
clothing  Chakotaypractice." His garments quickly reformed.

"That's it!" Tom practically fell head-first off the foot of the
bed,  brought up by a sudden rush of lust. Chakotay was now
dressed in the  shoes that had been retained through every
outfit, dress boots with  clearly defined one-inch heels. This
time, though, the rest of his clothes  were pure black:
body-hugging trousers that began mid-ribs and flowed  down the
older man's trim waist, then molded a pair of luscious cheeks
and  strong thighs, until at the knee they continued straight
down instead  of tapering. And topping it off was a
short-sleeved T-shirt so skintight  you could see every muscle
of those powerful shoulders and biceps, as  well as every curve
of the washboard abs. Tom had an urgent desire to  lower the
temperature, so the barely-seen nipples crowning that 
impressive chest would harden and poke through. The barbaric
gold and crystal of  the Rutali seal gleamed against its
midnight background, the final  touch.

"*That's* your performance outfit," Tom repeated, his mouth dry
with  longing.

"No, it's my practice outfit," Chakotay said in a patient tone.

"I'm telling you, Chakotay, whatever you're doing will be better 
received in those clothes." Tom surveyed the terrain once more.
"You might  even get away with just standing there."

"Yeah, right." Chakotay sighed and gave in. "I still need to
make a few  more environmental adjustments. Shall we get
started?" Tom nodded and  bounced to the bottom of the mattress,
eager now for the performance to  begin.

Chakotay gave the computer commands to adjust the lighting,
turning it  into a soft glow illuminating the clear space he was
standing in. He  summoned a music selection, then stood, hands
relaxed at his sides, and  waited.

Tom first heard the clapping, unseen hands moving in a quick,
precise  rhythm. Then the strains of a guitar, its notes
sensually gliding around  and within the beat. Slowly,
Chakotay's arms raised, bending at the  elbows to hover before
him at waist level. Suddenly, he began to move.

His feet lifted and descended in rhythm with the clapping in the 
timeless steps of flamenco. As the beat sped up so did he,
landing on the  balls of his feet in a flurry of motion. Like an
exclamation point marking  the end of each phrase of music, he
landed back on his heels with a  sharp, emphatic sound. All the
while, his upper body followed the melody  of the guitar. His
fingers flicking, leading to the swift turn of wrist,  expanding
into the graceful opening of the forearm and finally the full 
expanse of those carved, flowing limbs as he sketched circles in
the  air.

It was pure power, and passion. More than a dance, a
presentation of  the primal male essence. As the clapping and
guitar became even faster,  Chakotay's movements sharpened,
alternating straight steps and swirling  quick kicks, his arms
snapping out and back at shoulder level as if  snatching the
notes from the air around him. He added spins, a blur of 
motion, each one transforming him into column of darkness
crowned by  either arms outstretched to the heavens or folded
close, his crossed wrists  framing the shining Rutali seal.

There was a burst of silence, then everything shifted down to
the speed  of a heartbeat. Chakotay's final spin slowed,
loosened, his movements  still precise but more supple. As he
stopped turning a woman's low voice  was added, a soft wail
throbbing with emotion.

Now the dancer's steps were silent as he traveled across the
floor, a  panther pacing out his territory. His whole body was a
fluid glide, this  time punctuated by pauses as he moved then
posed for a breathless  instant, limbs lightly flexed or
extended. Those powerful bronzed hands  glided through the air
or lightly caressed his black-clad body as they  obeyed the
siren's call. His hips had taken up the guitar melody, sinuously 
and sensuously arching right and left, forward and back, or in a
slow,  smooth circle.

And all the while those dark eyes burned. With passion, with
desire,  with the promise and confidence of a man at his peak.

The visual seduction lasted long, tantalizing minutes as
Chakotay's  body explored every inch of the dance space, and his
predatory gaze every  inch of Tom.

The woman's voice faded and the clapping increased, the guitar
once  again rising to meet it. Now Chakotay flickered like a
flame across the  floor, moving more swiftly than ever. The
pounding of his feet again  marked each portion of the dance,
light fast steps constant like the soft  roar of a fire, drowned
out for a second by the popping-spark strike of  his heels.
There was no denying the heat consuming the dance---or the 
dancer.

The smooth skin began to gleam with a sheen of sweat as music
and  movement began the final crescendo, building toward the
climax. Chakotay  reached the center of the floor and held
there, hands on his hips, his  legs a blur. Coinciding with the
last emphatic clap and fierce note of the  guitar, he leaped and
landed his full weight in a mighty snap against  the wood, his
arms outstretched at shoulder level, palms slightly turned  as
if inviting---demanding---his audience to gaze upon him.

Tom obeyed, and felt desire build, lighting a bonfire within
him. The  heat sizzled in his core and radiated outward, filling
him with an  implacable determination.

He was going to have Chakotay. *Now.*

TBC