GOLDILOCKS AND THE HONEYBEAR

Title: Goldilocks and the Honeybear, 1/1 
Author: Jaye (Copyright October 2002) 
Codes: VOY C/P PG-13

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are
the  property of Paramount. No infringement is intended or profit
made. This  is PG-13 for suggestions of 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 
wordsmith872@fastmail.fm

Summary: A twist on an old tale, involving Voyager's resident 
studmuffins.

Note: Bad, bad fic ahead. You've been warned. Originally this title
was  going to be for "Accidental Passions Version 2", but that piece
is  turning more serious than I intended. So this is just a bit of
fluff so the  title won't go to waste. I really don't remember the
fairy tale that  well, so my apologies for not even ripping it off
accurately.

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

PART ONE

Once upon a time there was a not-so-young man named Tom Paris. He
had a  reputation as one most curious. Now, that doesn't mean that
he was at  all strange; he was congenitally inquisitive---and just
wouldn't change.  He stuck his cute little nose where it didn't
belong, into gossip and  plots, so many things then went wrong. He
had bright blond hair hence  "Goldilocks" became, his widespread and
often snickering nickname. He  didn't like it, he tried to complain,
but he's not writing the story so he  argued in vain.

Tom lived in a far away part of the universe known as the Delta
Quad,  on the good ship Voyager rather than on water or sod. He had
a rather  nice cabin right on Deck 4, complete with standard-issue
furniture and  his very own replicator. But Tom wasn't happy, not
one little bit. Many  nights he'd brood with none of the lights lit.

It was true, his crewmates no longer had murder or even anger in
their  eyes. And Tom gets to sit at the helm when Voyager flies. He
had two  shiny pips on his collar (which he kept polished to a
bright sheen),  while most of his colleagues only had one or none at
all to be seen.

He had many imaginary friends crafted by his own dainty hands (that 
never did dishes). And even one or two real pals---you'd think he'd
been  granted all of his wishes.

But still Tom had no joy. He didn't know what to do about it, so he 
went exploring, such a naughty not-so-little boy.

He wandered up and down and back and forth, along the decks and
around  the halls. He peered into nooks and crannies uncaring of who
might live  within each set of walls.

By the time he reached a Cargo Bay it was time to rest. Three chairs 
sat in the middle of the floor, as if complying with his request.
They  had just been cleaned by the nameless souls in Ship's
Maintenance, (which  was really just a fancy way of saying people of
Janitorial  acquaintance). They were soon to be sent back to their
owners, one knows. But in  the meantime they'd do just fine to rest
poor Tom's weary toes.

The first was a strange contraption that looked remarkably like a 
Sickbay biobed. Despite the resemblance, Tom took the chance and
hopped on  the elongated gurney-sled.

And jumped right back off again, rubbing his throbbing posterior.
The  surface was way too hard, and too cold to consider. "Who would
sit on  that uncomfortable thing?" Tom wondered, still smarting.

"The Doctor," the computer helpfully replied, "when he's done all
his  medical charting."

With a snort, Tom of the golden locks went to the next chair. It was 
full of frills and ruffles, like a pink pouff full of air. But he
was  irritated by the rutching and all that sewing stuff. He stood
up and  marched away in a huff. He declared, "This is too much
fluff---who created  those bows and that bunting?"

"Kes," said the ever-present machine, "and now she's out 
bobbin-hunting."

Tom shook his head and trudged over to choice number three. A warm 
geometric print covered a frame of wood from a tree. Cautiously
buttocks  met cushion, a perfect fit. Tom sighed and relaxed,
letting his body sink  into it. "This is just right. I need to get
one of these. Whose is it,  would you now tell me please?"

"The chair belongs to Commander Chakotay." The voice replied 
immediately, without any delay.

Tom frowned and wondered if a computer could sound disapproving. 
Perhaps he needed to get himself grooving. After all, no one messed
with the  owner of this sturdy chair. Out of earshot Chakotay was
universally  known as "the Bear". Far out of earshot, is where the
speaker would  abide---if that speaker liked to keep all of their
hide.

Tom sat for a good fifteen minutes, then gave in to trepidation. He 
scurried away, without procrastination. Hoping that Chakotay never
would  see, a recording of his illicit chair-sitting---or three.

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

PART TWO

Goldilocks---Tom glared at the sound of the hated nickname---stalked 
down the corridor, his brain aflame. He was hungry enough to eat his
own  boot. While he often was finicky, right now he'd eat anything
not laden  with leola root.

The doors of the Mess Hall opened wide. He drifted on the aromas
that  floated inside. Tomato soup---his favorite dish, or bowl, or
tureen---if  such a quantity could possibly be seen.

Tom sped to a table graced by three bowls, each filled to the brim. 
Carmine ambrosia, more than he'd make on a whim. Behind the first
serving  rested the picture of a strange little man. Polka-dot clad
and  tufted-haired, he grinned like the biggest ham. Tom picked up
his spoon and  took a good sip, careful not to stain his curving
pink lip.

Then he suddenly spit in a terrible snit. "That's too hot!" he
yelled  loud and long as he ran to the tap. The water so cold was a
balm to his  tongue, to which too many spices had seemed like a
slap.

Tom cautiously approached the middle exhibit, backed by a picture of
a  Vulcan who did his emotions inhibit. Bravely venturing forth with 
utensil in hand, Tom scooped up a serving of the thick reddish
liquid,  wondering if it was bland.

"Bleah," was his comment as he set down the congealing goo. "This is 
too cold, and I'll bet he is too." He wrinkled his nose at the 
unacceptable selection, then sidled down to the final soup for his
taste  detection.

"Uh-oh," Tom said, then added a swear. He very well knew that shiny 
black hair. Bronze skin beautifully glowed, and the graceful tattoo 
clearly showed: this soup belonged to "the Bear"---so he'd better
beware.

Tilting his nose and his lips and his chin, the daring blond man 
gripped his spoon and dug in. "Aaahhh...." he sighed as his palate
applauded;  here was tomato soup fit to be lauded. The delicate
flavors in Tom's  mouth did bloom; why did Chakotay waste time
making soup mushroom?

Tom finished the bowl and then licked it clean. He left, once more 
hoping he hadn't been seen.

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

PART THREE

The fair-haired one wandered into his own creation. "Sandrine," he 
demanded, "provide me with libation!"

The sassy French madame gave him a look. "You know you owe money, so
no  booze 'til you make book!"

"Isn't there anything at all you'd give me for free?" Tom's
puppy-dog  expression made the lady go see.

"I have some drinks set aside, Thomas, for when people come
calling."

"Then give them to me, Sandrine, and please no more stalling."

The first was a cup full of dark red booze. Tom took one tiny 
taste---"Yuck, what's this bitter ooze?"

"It's Mademoiselle B'Elanna's favorite, Klingon blood-wine."

"If I don't taste that ever again, my life'll be just fine."

Tom took the next glass, and sniffed a delicate bouquet. But the
taste  was disappointing, "Far too sweet, I'd have to say."

"That's Monsieur Harry's own vintage, surely you knew?"

Tom said, "I suppose some people like it, but it's just not my
brew."

Sandrine frowned and said, "I'm not sure I should give you this, it 
belongs to the Commander."

Tom snatched Chakotay's private drink, and gulped it without a
gander.

"Oh my," he breathed, as the liquid went down, "This is the best
thing  I've tasted in any town."

"It's a blend of fruit juices, mulled with spices, I believe."
Sandrine  saw Tom finish it all and said worriedly, "You'd better
leave."

"I think you're right, Chakotay won't be happy," Tom said, "but I
hope  he makes more, and it's done really snappy."

Tom wondered if stealing a drink was a killing offense, then left
for  the protection of environs more dense.

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

PART FOUR (CONCLUSION)

"Bedtime," Tom said, but didn't seek out his room. He knew the 
emptiness would fill him with gloom.

Back to the Cargo Bay to visit with Seven Tom strove, but Goldilocks 
found no one inside the Borg alcove.

"I guess I'll try it out," Tom said as he stepped up to machinery 
glowing neon lime. "I won't have to get out of bed---surely that
will save  time."

After only a few minutes, he knew it wasn't for him. "You couldn't
get  me to sleep here on a bet---or a whim."

It wasn't just that he found it uncomfortable. To be in an ex-Borg 
embrace was worse than a tentacle (completely untenable).

Tom wandered to the largest cabin in size. But going in he just
didn't  think would be wise.

"I simply can't do it, even to save my soul eternal. The Captain for
me  is just too maternal."

He shuddered and slipped past Kathryn Janeway's door. But as he
neared  the next cabin, he heard a fierce roar.

"Get in here, you sneak thief, you foulest of fiends!" Chakotay 
screamed. He pulled Tom in so fast, his speed-addled brain careened.

"Just why are you yelling?" Tom said, ready to lie. Unfortunately,
lust  made his brain cells start to fry.

He was staring at a muscled bronze specimen of man. A barely-clad
one  whose naked waist he'd surely love to span. Silky skin to
stroke, dusky  nipples to tease, and under the boxers, a package
sure to please.

But it seemed Chakotay the Bear was of his charms unaware. He folded 
his arms, angry and sore. "Tell me, Paris, are you rotten to the
core?

"You sat in my chair---don't deny it, I pray," Chakotay's brown eyes 
snapped as he said, "I've got your DNA."

The angry shout Tom just barely heard. All that mattered was the
full  mouth that formed each word.

"Then you ate my soup---how could you do it? I was entered in the 
contest, but thanks to you I blew it."

Tom licked his own lips, but not in memory. He planned to learn 
Chakotay's taste---every category. Sweet lips, salt musk, and if he
was  blessed, a bountiful yield of creamy goodness.

"And to top it all off, you drank my fruit juice." Chakotay
continued,  "Tell me now, Paris, have you got a screw loose?"

Screw, yes, that's such a good idea, Tom thought. I'll even let you
go  first, like a gentleman ought.

"Please hear me, Chakotay, I can't say I regret it, for I've
realized  something so profound I won't forget it."

"What are you talking about, Tom?" the delicious man asked. In the 
concerned glow of his eyes Goldilocks happily basked.

"I know that you're not an angry beast, or usually so rude. You're
just  lonely like I am, it's put you in a bad mood." Tom made the
declaration  as he stripped off his shirt.

Chakotay just stood there, his eyes full of hurt. "Is that why you 
stole from me, because you knew? That there was no way I could ever
injure  you?"

"Forgive me Chak, I know I was a bad boy before. But all these tests 
proved that it's you I adore." Tom stepped forward, trying his best.
He  rested one pale hand on a sleek honey-brown chest.

Tom said, "Your chair is perfect, to cuddle on and kiss. To be in
your  arms for me would be bliss."

He looked into eyes so deep and so warm, "And the fact you can cook 
doesn't do any harm. Not to mention that drink---though so wonderful
to  savor, I know it won't come close to your lips' luscious
flavor."

Tom caressed the skin of chest, neck and cheek. He was almost too 
overwhelmed to speak. "There's one last test, one more thing to
check."

Chakotay guessed Tom's next thought, "Before you can move to my
deck?  Perhaps you'd like to spend the night in my bed. To see if
you're  comfortable, and where our hearts led. And to be honest, I'd
very much like  you to stay. Not too long, just forever and a day."

"You're a sweetheart, Chakotay, I knew it for sure. I was soulsick
and  joyless, but you are my cure."

Their smiles then warmed the room like the sun. Tom was sure from
this  moment they'd only have fun.

Yes, Goldilocks knew that he and Chakotay would be perfect together. 
They'd build a love that all seasons would weather.

They'd make love soon and for the rest of time. United forever,
their  lives intertwined.

And there was no question their bodies would fit, Like two puzzles 
pieces, so tightly they'd knit. Not too large or small, too soft or
tight.  Not too rough or hard---no, they'd feel just right.

Tom said, "I love you, Chakotay, and this I swear. Forever I'll be
your  Goldilocks, if you'll be my Honeybear!" And so they departed
from our  view, to pledge a love both timeless and new.

Now we have reached the end of our story so let's put out the light, 
and wish the two sweeties a long kiss Good Night.

THE END