Disclaimer: The characters and settings of "Star Trek: Voyager" and "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" are property of Paramount Television, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is property of the author, and may not be reproduced, retransmitted, or posted anywhere without my expressed permission.
Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual interaction between two men. Please do not read it if such things offend you or if you are under the legal age in your area.
"Sorry, I already have a date, Tom." The blonde smiled sorrowfully, but her eyes weren't as apologetic as her tone. "Maybe another time?" She patted his shoulder and walked off.
Tom Paris sighed. He couldn't believe he wasn't scoring with the women anymore. Here he'd been at Starfleet Academy for two and a half years - almost a senior cadet, on top of the world; the Federation's finest, right? Women should be falling at his feet. After all, he was a stud. Everyone knew it. Even the senior cadets his first year had known it. There had been one who...well, she was a Lieutenant Junior Grade now, no use thinking about it. Anyway, he could always catch a first-year...they were always eager to hop in the sack with an older cadet...but he was getting tired of bright-eyed, naive young women. He wanted someone older, more experienced in his bed.
"Strike out again, Tom?" Brian Wade smirked cheerfully as he clapped Tom heartily on the shoulder. "Better luck next time."
"Yeah." Tom chewed his inner lip. It was the second day of rush -- the week-long period during which new cadets arrived and settled into the dorms. It was a time of respite for the older cadets, since it marked the break between semesters, and there were no classes. Five and a half more glorious days of vacation...and Tom Paris had bet Brian Wade a fortnight's worth of pocket money that he, Paris, could get laid -- and not by a new cadet -- before the end of rush.
"Don't worry, Brian," Tom said more confidently than he felt. "Your hard-earned money won't go to waste." He gave his best cocky grin. "Maybe I'll buy her some new satin sheets."
"Sure...whatever," Brian replied just as confidently. "Let's get some lunch."
The bet was only the icing on the cake, anyway, Tom told himself as they headed across the Quad to the dining halls. He needed a roll in the hay, and not with some fresh-faced young girl hot off the farm, unjaded by the bureacracy and the rigidly hierarchical pecking order of the Academy. Tom Paris could bring a partner to a screaming, biting climax in minutes -- this was a point of pride -- but it had been a while since he'd been with anyone as talented as himself. (The commonly-held opinion among the senior cadets was that there would be no room left in the bed once Tom Paris and his ego had arrived.)
"Hey! Watch it!" Tom exclaimed as a hasty elbow bumped his, almost causing him to spill hot Gyrronia leaf soup on himself.
"Oh, I do apologize, excuse me," the offender apologized quickly, sliding past Tom and Brian to sit at the long table toward which they had been heading. The two friends shrugged and seated themselves as well. Tom sized up the stranger quickly. His accent, along with the dark hair and bronze skin, marked him as an Eastern-Hemisphere Terran; his collar was blue for Sciences, and by its two stripes he was a third-year cadet as well as Brian and Tom. He was slim but muscular, with dusky brown skin and soulful chocolate-colored eyes above a full sensuous mouth. Tom rolled his eyes mentally. Obviously the sensitive type. He was probably in Stellar Cartography or Marine Biology or something boring like that...the type who would rather befriend a woman than screw her. Tom told himself he had nothing to worry about, ignoring the appreciative glances the newcomer was getting from women in the vicinity.
"I'm Brian Wade, command track," Brian introduced himself, wiping off a hand and offering it over.
"Julian Bashir, medical," the other young man replied, shaking Brian's hand. "I hope you'll pardon my appearance, I've just gotten in from Betazed."
"Tom Paris, navigation," Tom said, shaking in his turn. He began to revise his opinion; Medical was a demanding and competitive branch of the Academy. "What were you doing on Betazed?"
"Researching Bendii syndrome for Admiral McCoy's heredity class," Bashir replied. "It's simply fascinating...but you're not doctors, I won't bore you."
Tom and Brian exchanged a look. "Isn't that class only offered to senior cadets in their final semester?" Brian asked.
"Well, junior cadets may take it with special permission from the Admiral," Bashir replied, oblivious to his companions' surprise. Tom raised his eyebrows.
"Hey, Tom." Paris looked up and smiled to see a small group of women standing by his chair.
"Hi, Clryla," he said suavely, pouring on the charm for one of his former conquests. The Andorian giggled, her blue skin turning slightly purple with embarrassment.
"Could you, um...Would you introduce us to your friend?" she asked coyly, giving Tom a winning smile. Her friends giggled too. Tom grimaced.
"Yeah," he grumbled. "Julian Bashir, medical. Clryla, engineering. And her friends."
"Delighted," Julian said, rising slightly to reach across the table and shake Clryla's hand. She giggled and blushed some more.
"Um, congratulations on the award," she said sweetly.
"Thank you." Bashir's blush turned his skin a dusty golden-rose color. Tom rolled his eyes again.
"Oh, didn't you hear?" one of the friends piped up. "Julian won the Pasteur Award for the most promising third-year cadet in Medical. He's practically guaranteed to be valedictorian next year. And he'll have his pick of assignments after graduation!"
"Now, that's a little premature," Bashir said self-effacingly. "Really, there are quite a few very talented cadets here. I'm certainly not expecting to be valedictorian."
"You will," another friend said with certainty.
"Gotta go!" Clryla said reluctantly. "We have to meet with Professor Lewis. See you later, Julian."
"Looking forward to it," he said charmingly. Tom Paris tried to suppress a groan.
"What is it about this guy?" he muttered to Brian. "He's invading my turf." Brian shrugged noncommittally.
"Hey, the competition will do you good," he opined blithely. "We wouldn't want you getting too cocky." He laughed. Tom glared at him.
"Let's get going," Tom said. "We wanna get good seats for that concert tonight. The Horta group, remember? They call their music 'hard rock.'" He laughed.
"And people say the Horta have no sense of humor," Brian agreed. "Yeah, let's move."
"I was thinking of going to that concert too," Bashir said, taking a leisurely sip from his glass of synthbeer. "Maybe I'll see you guys there."
"Um, yeah...sure. See you around," Tom said hastily, and made tracks.
As promised, Tom and Brian and their other friends spotted Julian Bashir at the concert, sitting near the front row with a small gaggle of pretty women and a couple of professors. Tom rolled his eyes and made gagging noises, but Brian just shrugged.
The days of rush rolled onward, and Tom continued to be luckless in his quest to get a woman into bed. He was starting to worry. It wasn't just the money; his reputation was on the line. He knew Brian had told a couple of pals about the bet, and the story was spreading throughout the Academy. Tom was willing to bet that even the professors knew about it now. What's worse, every time he turned around there was Julian Bashir, acting all friendly, and covered with admiring women. He never seemed to actually get involved with any of them -- but they all made it clear they were willing. Tom was beginning to doubt himself. What did Bashir have that he, Tom Paris, suddenly seemed to lack?
And then there were only three days left, and preparations began. Engineering students started pulling out their schematics; biologists were refreshing their understanding of nuclei and photosynthesis; and Tom Paris, along with his fellow future pilots, spent much of the day in the holodeck running grueling flight simulations. When he finally called it a night, he was almost too tired to even trade sardonic jibes with the other cadets. He just wanted to go crash; when he woke up tomorrow morning, he'd only have two more days, and he felt like he had propositioned every woman at the Academy. Shedding his flightsuit quickly, he headed back to his dorm.
It was late at night, and the hallways were mostly deserted; most students were in bed asleep, or holed up in their rooms studying the night away. As he passed by the student lounge, Tom caught sight of Julian Bashir slouched on the sofa, clutching a bottle, blinking slowly at the wall. Tom stepped into the room.
"Hey, Julian," he greeted tiredly. "Whatcha doin'?"
"I was trying to drown my sorrows in a quiet bottle of synthahol," Julian replied, stressing the word "quiet." Tom refused to take the hint.
"Jeez, I'm wiped," he said, sinking down on the sofa. He put his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands across his face. "That was a killer flight simulation." He glanced at Julian, who was staring his vexation into the empty bottle. "You out?"
"Yes, and nowhere near drunk enough," Julian replied disgustedly, tossing the bottle aside. There was silence for a moment as Tom rubbed his tired eyes and Julian struggled to hold onto his buzz. "What did you say?"
"Nothing, just talking to myself," mumbled Tom, who had actually been asking himself why he'd ever agreed to that stupid bet.
"That does it...I'm well and truly sober," Julian pronounced, sitting up. "What bet?"
"Oh..." Tom sighed. "I bet Brian a fortnight's pay that I could get laid by the end of rush...and it can't be a newbie."
"Hmm." Julian considered. "Well, that shouldn't be too difficult, should it? I'm told you have quite a way with the ladies."
"Yeah, well, the luck of the Irish seems to have worn off," Tom grumbled. "It's not the money I mind so much as the smug look I know Brian'll be wearing for the rest of the semester."
"Well," said Julian, "the question is, does the bet specifically say it has to be a woman?"
"What?" Tom took his face from his hands and looked up. Somehow, Julian had scooted closer to him while he wasn't paying attention. Their knees brushed together and Julian smiled.
"You know," he said coaxingly. "Come on, you can't tell me you haven't tried it."
"What...with men?" Tom said uneasily. "Well, sure, but...." He stopped. He couldn't exactly say "I didn't enjoy it," because that sure wasn't true. "I decided it wasn't my thing," he said at last. Julian's smile widened.
"Maybe you just weren't with the right men," he said, his voice lower and still more cajoling. His face was close enough that Tom could feel the other man's breath warm on his neck, could smell the slight scent of cinnamon and nutmeg from his skin - There seemed to be no transition; suddenly Tom found Julian's mouth covering his, with no memory of what had happened in between. Julian's hand slid up his neck, cupping the back of his head as their mouths slid across each other, tongues touching first tentatively, then searchingly, then with growing passion. Tom felt his whole body respond and realized that he was kissing Julian just the way he kissed a woman; and that Julian too was kissing like a man, both aggressively, both confidently, both skillfully ... Tom's head spun and he pulled back, gasping, his chest heaving. Julian laughed a low, throaty laugh and licked his lips sensuously. The spicy scent came off his skin again and Tom realized he was imagining the taste of that skin.
"No...." he said confusedly, feeling as if he were beginning in the middle of a sentence. He pressed his legs together in a futile attempt to control the burning in his crotch, and inescapably his eyes told him that Julian had had a similar response. He was still smiling.
"Well, I have to be getting some more studying done," he said casually, as if he had not just ravished Tom's still-throbbing mouth with his own talented tongue. "I'll see you around." He rose, ruffling Tom's hair with a casual touch as he departed. Tom stared after him, his head still in a whirl, unable to get a single coherent thought through his mind. Finally he stood up and dragged himself off to bed, where Julian Bashir melded uncomfortably with the legendary Admiral Kirk in his strange dreams.
Arriving late to lunch the next day, Tom saw his friend Brian engaged in a deep, heated conversation with Julian Bashir. An uncomfortable suspicion rose in his gut as he hurried toward them.
"What's up, guys?" he said, striving for his usual easy tone as Brian looked at him with open surprise and Julian coyly, from under lowered lashes. Tom couldn't help noticing that Julian had lovely, long, soft eyelashes covering his expressive dark eyes.
"Tom, is this for real?" Brian was asking. Tom slid nervously into the seat beside Julian, across from Brian. Anyone who was looking -- and there were several of them -- saw Julian's hand fall with a casual possessive touch on Tom's thigh. Tom didn't know what to do. His first instinct was to shove the hand away, but its touch was unmistakably exciting, and anyway, if he didn't miss his guess, he was about to win his bet....
"Is what for real?" he managed, keeping his voice level and not looking at Julian.
"You know...." Brian glanced quickly from one to the other, Julian looking demurely at the food on his plate, Tom meeting his friend's gaze calmly. "Julian tells me that the two of you, um...."
"It's not like you to be so tongue-tied about this particular topic," Tom said, bluffing, but knowing he was most likely right. "So you gonna fork over, or what?" "Um ... yeah." Brian shrugged. "Hey, I guess you can't know everything about someone." He reached into a pocket and pulled out his wallet, started to count out the credits. Too late, Tom realized that everyone in the room would know the implications -- as soon as Brian handed over the money, it would be all over campus: Tom Paris slept with Julian Bashir! Tom cringed inwardly, embarrassed and flustered. He hoped word wouldn't get back to his father, the impossible old bigot. As if sensing his consternation, the hand on his leg gave a gentle squeeze and then retreated, moving to pick up a fork. Tom flushed again, this time with an unexpected feeling of bereftment.
"Here ya go," Brian said, holding out the money. Tom took it with a sinking feeling of resignation.
A chirp emanated from the speakers on the wall. "Cadet Bashir, report to Professor Geren's office."
"On my way," Julian replied, stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth. "I asked him to review my final project for his class," he explained, his voice muffled by food. "See you later." And he was gone.
An awkward silence ensued. "So..." Brian said finally, "Whatcha doin' this afternoon?"
"Just more of the same, I guess. I gotta finish the simulation sequence before classes start," Tom said. "How far did you get?"
"Level four," Brian said. "You?"
"Same here. Wanna go for five together?"
"Sure. Let's run."
For the rest of the day Tom immersed himself in the flight exercises, pushing his mind and body to their limits, avoiding all thought of Julian Bashir and the falsely-won bet. But when he returned to his room late that night, a slim figure was leaning casually against the wall outside the door. Tom cringed inwardly again, wondering how many cadets had walked by and seen Julian waiting and known, or thought they knew, what he was waiting for....
"Hi," Tom said awkwardly.
"Hi. Can we talk?"
Tom shrugged uneasily. Julian followed him into the room.
"I'm sorry," Julian said smoothly, but sincerely. "I thought you wanted to win the bet. And now you have."
"Yeah, but now everyone thinks...." Tom trailed off, feeling his body flush as the scent of Julian reached him yet again.
"So? There's no shame in it anymore. This isn't the Dark Ages."
"I know, but how am I gonna make time with women?"
Julian shrugged. "I'm sure you'll find a way," he said, his voice suddenly softer and vulnerable. "If that's what you want."
There was a long pause. Finally Julian rose and moved over to tousle Tom's scruffy hair again, with a light affectionate touch. Tom sighed loudly and closed his eyes, his head beginning to swim again with ill-defined emotions. Before he opened his eyes again they were kissing, the same heady feeling of clinching with an equal. They sank to the floor and Tom found himself sprawled out, supporting himself on his elbows, with Julian straddling his hips. Julian sat up and pulled down the zipper of Tom's uniform, sliding his dark gentle hands over Tom's chest, playing gently with the curls of hair there. Tom sat up more fully, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and taking a long moment to drink in the sensation, feeling the slight roughness of Julian's chin rasp against his bare shoulder, feeling how their hearts beat in syncopation and their chests moved harshly with rapid breaths.
Julian disengaged himself gently and brushed another kiss across Tom's mouth, their tongues tangling briefly, before leaning back again. He moved his hand down Tom's body and wrapped it authoritatively around the already aching, pulsating length of his erection. All misgivings forgotten, Tom thrilled to the touch. He was completely prepared to give in and enjoy the experience.
"Just relax for now," Julian said, his soft smooth voice husky and full of promise. "Let me...let me..." Tom leaned back and surrendered completely, his mind blank of all things female as he gave in to the hot wet mouth caressing him.
Almost an hour later when Julian finally entered him, their sweaty bodies sliding slickly together, Tom Paris knew that no woman at the Academy, first-year cadet or tenured professor, would ever hold the same attraction for him again. His last coherent thought of the evening was I knew I wasn't in this for the money...
Top of this page | Back to Joan's fanfic page | Back to EnglishChick.com
joan the english chick