Title: Table Six.

Author: Ky (venom69)

Date: 19/04/07

Request: Explain the fiddle.

With Thanks: To a wonderful beta.

Disclaimer: Characters and Song are not mine.

***

The bartender asks

He says “Son, what’ll it be?”

I wanna a shot of that redhead yonder lookin’ at me…

***

“What on Earth were you thinking?”

Chakotay had at least fifteen good excuses for this.

At least.

At the very least.

He thought that he could probably come up with a few more if he was given enough time, but the blue eyes that stared him down didn’t allow that and he knew that he couldn’t stall her forever.

He figured he should start at the top of the list, then. “Alcohol.”

“You don’t drink.”

Next… “A dare.”

“You’re not thirteen anymore.”

And… “I guess peer pressure is out of the question, then?”

“I would think so.”

Yep. He thought so, too. “Something was slipped into my tea.”

She didn’t even respond to that one, but her eyebrows headed up to introduce themselves to her hairline and Chakotay got the message without verbal conformation.

“There was a lot of latinum involved.”

“You don’t care about that. And Starfleet gave you enough back pay to last you three lifetimes.”

She had a point. She usually did. “An alien was in control of my body?”

“Again?”

The way she said it made him pretty sure that it wasn’t going to fly as a defense.

Actually, the way she said it made it sound like he was regularly controlled by aliens and manipulated into doing stupid things. Which may have been true, when he considered it.

Damnit.

“It’s all Tom’s fault.”

“Now that,” She nodded once, “I can believe.”

***

It was all Tom’s fault.

Mostly because he was evil, partly because he was… well, no, it was really just about the evilness.

“It’ll be fun!” He had said. “She’ll love it!”

And Chakotay - like the dipshit he normally wasn’t - had nodded blindly and taken hold of the hat and sat it on his head.

Though he hadn’t been game enough to look in the mirror, he had assumed that he looked stupid. An assumption that had only been confirmed when Tom had tried - and failed - to hide his smirk.

On the ride to the club, he had sat in the back of the outrageous limousine and resisted the urge to scratch at the itchy material that covered him. For a costume, it was certainly an… interesting, for want of a better term, choice.

Before he’d left, Tom had directed the driver - who looked suspiciously like a former Voyager and who probably owed Tom money from the betting pools - to the back entrance of the club. Nodding and smiling, Tom had told Chakotay, again, that it would be fine before he’d hastily shut the door and yelled at the driver to ‘floor it.’

Chakotay had thought that, after seven years with the man, he really should have known better than to follow through with any suggestion that the cocky young man made.

Ever.

Unfortunately, by the time he had remembered that, he’d been in the dressing room and was walking up to the side of the stage.

The lighting had been low and the main room smoky. It didn’t seem to matter that tobacco companies had gone out of business years and years ago; every bar still seemed to have the tell-tale cloud hanging low over the room.

Atmosphere, apparently.

From his vantage point on the side of the stage and with the lights still dimmed, he’d been able to see the faces of the crowd.

Chakotay scanned the faces of the patrons as they sat in groups around the tables, each with various colored drinks in front of them. They’d thundered their applause for the ‘Starfleet Officer’ and were waiting for the next show to begin.

It hadn’t taken long to spot the group that he’d come for; they were, if nothing else, quite a distinctive bunch.

Though the veils and flashing tiaras on their heads may have helped.

He’d seen B’Elanna first. Her Klingon ridges had shown through the white material and he would have known them anywhere, even without the glow of the blue light that sat atop her tiara. Seven had sat next to her, a green tiara on her head, clearly uncomfortable with the hair that hung below her shoulders and the veil that tickled her exposed neck. Chakotay had sighed; he wished she was more comfortable in ‘relaxed’ environments, but his own relaxation levels were pretty low at this point so he wasn’t going to dwell.

Next his eyes had found the Delaney sisters with their matching red tiaras, both giggling madly - probably drunk, he’d thought - and then there was Kathryn.

The Kathryn Janeway.

She looked… well, uncomfortable was probably the only word that he could think to describe it. Her eyes were downcast, making the veil fall across her face, as she studied her drink intently. The transparent white couldn’t hide the flush on her cheeks. He hadn’t been sure if it was alcohol, the flashing pink from her tiara or something else? She was, however, doing her best to avoid looking at the stage.

The music had ended and the ‘act’ before him bowed graciously as the crowd whooped and hollered. The performer nodded and smiled his thanks and moved to stand beside Chakotay.

“New here?”

“First time.” Chakotay nodded, mentally adding ‘and last’ while trying not to be uncomfortable at the other man’s state of dress. Or undress, as it were.

“Bachelorette party on table six.”

Chakotay was fairly certain that ‘table six’ was the table currently occupied by half the Voyager women and his former Captain. “Right.”

The other man winked. “Not big tippers, though. I think they’re waiting for someone.”

They were waiting for someone - namely, the dipshit that was him - they just didn’t know it yet.

Chakotay nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime.” The man smiled and a new song started. “They’re playing your song. Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, Chakotay stepped on to the stage and moved to the end of the runway.

Well, he didn’t so much move as swung his hips to the end of the runway. Each step was carefully measured to match the beat of the song - and just what had Tom plucked out of his ass for this? When he finally reached the pole at the end, he stopped, and his fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt.

He felt stupid.

Standing at the end of the stage, a silver pole next to him - Tom was high if he thought that Chakotay was going to use that pole for anything, unless it included the death of Voyager’s former helmsman - as he slowly undid the buttons on his tuxedo-cum-cowboy-cum-dipshit shirt.

He looked stupid.

Aside from the fact that he’d never done this sort of thing before - and he hated performing in front of other people even when he was fully clothed - he was certainly not the most graceful of people in the world and he was likely to fall on his face and look stupid.

Actually, this whole thing was stupid.

That was pretty self-explanatory, he thought bitterly, as his fingers continued to work at the buttons, careful not to loosen the bow tie around his neck.

It was a bit of a balancing act, trying to shimmy - sexily - out of the shirt, while trying to keep his footing and the pink hat on his head as it was, sitting low, covering his eyes.

There was no way in hell, the Delta Quadrant, Fluidic Space, or anywhere else, that he was going to be able to do this for three minutes or more.

No.

It was not going to happen.

He’d get as naked as he could and then he was going to boot, scoot and boogie his ass right off the stage and into witness protection.

With a pit stop to kill Tom Paris, of course.

Chakotay kept his head down and his hips moving and the shirt finally came off. He flung it into the crowd, not bothering to look in which direction it went as he concentrated on the simple task of remaining upright.

Finally, he looked up and kept his eyes focused on the back of the room before he forced himself to put on some kind of ‘come hither’ face as he scanned the crowd.

He saw her eyes widen in recognition when he eventually looked for his shirt amongst the crowd of women. Familiar dark eyes reflected shock, amusement and then devilishness as B’Elanna slapped Kathryn’s arm and nodded towards the stage.

Wide blue eyes stared at him through the white veil.

For a few seconds, he was tempted to turn tail and run, but he watched the colour in her cheeks darken and decided that if he was going to make an ass of himself… well, she was going down with him.

Jumping off the stage, Chakotay ignored the wolf whistles, the “Come over here, baby!”, the pinch to his ass - she had nails, damnit - and moved over to table six.

He stopped in front of Kathryn, his hips still moving. He was fairly certain that she was going to hate him for this - or castrate him, if the look in her eyes was anything to go by - but there was a certain appeal in what he was doing, and who he was doing it in front of.

There was a very big appeal in knowing that she was so clearly off-balance.

Chakotay danced his way around her chair and pulled it back from the table. She held on to the seat to keep from falling and he heard her gasp over the loud music and the male singer.

Continuing the movement of his hips - and he really did feel like an idiot - Chakotay brushed his hand across the skin of her neck, tickling her through the lace of the veil that she wore.

While he knew exactly whose party this was, he was unsurprised to see all of the women at table six with veils and brightly colored tiaras. Considering that Tom Paris had been largely involved in the organization of the event, Chakotay thought them lucky to not be sitting in bikinis as well.

Hmm… now there was a rather pleasant mental image.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he danced his way back around to stand in front of Kathryn. He could almost convince himself that the twinkle in her eyes was that of amusement or desire, as opposed to the blatant anger that was much more her style.

Well, he thought, never once losing the rhythm that his hips had found, it’s not like she can throw me in the Brig anymore.

With that in mind, he grabbed the sides of his pants - supposedly something from the early western era, with a few modifications - and gave a sharp pull. The material separated easily under his grip, held together only by Velcro, and he tossed them to a bride, who laughed delightedly.

If it were possible, Kathryn’s eyes widened even further as he stood - danced - before her in nothing but a hot pink cowboy hat, a white bowtie and a pair of very small black briefs. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the side of the chair for dear life and he danced closer and closer to her, until he was straddling her uncrossed legs.

Holding the back of the chair for support, Chakotay ignored the catcalls and even more whistles that erupted - mostly from the Voyager woman - and angled his body downwards, dancing until he was pressed against Kathryn.

Her eyes were still wider than he’d ever seen them, and they were firmly fixed on his bare chest. If she looked down just a fraction, she’d be able to see the semi-arousal that he was half-heartedly trying to will away.

Chakotay wasn’t sure which he would prefer, but she made that decision for both of them when his groin brushed against her and she automatically looked down. He heard her gasp and blow out a long breath that connected with his chest. It was enough to make him harden fully.

Mercifully, the song ended before he was forced to go any further - it was tempting, but she probably would castrate him for anything more - and Chakotay rose slowly.

For the first time, Kathryn met his gaze and watched him stand.

Once he’d risen to his full height, he looked down at her, winked once and turned, jumping back onto the stage and walking to the exit with as much dignity as he could possibly muster.

Which wasn’t all that much, admittedly.

As he walked backstage and headed towards the exit, Chakotay was surprised to see the first dancer waiting for him.

“You did good for a newbie,” He patted his back, “And you have good taste.”

Chakotay thought it mildly weird that the other man felt comfortable touching him while he stood around in a very small amount of clothing, but he laughed along anyway.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of his name - in a very clipped and huskily familiar tone - rang through the small backstage area. He shared a look with the other dancer, one that clearly read; I’m screwed.

The other man just laughed harder.

Ignoring the call of his name, Chakotay slipped out the back exit, into the limousine and grabbed himself a drink.

By the time Kathryn had filed in after him, slammed the door, and positioned herself opposite him, he was already leaning back on the gaudy upholstery with a glass of champagne and cheeky grin firmly in place.

It may have looked stupid, but damn it had been fun.

And then she asked the question, but it was OK, because Chakotay had at least fifteen good excuses for this.

At least.

***

She was still glaring at him. “I’ll ask again, what on Earth were you thinking?”

Absently, he mused that it was probably nice for her - for them all, really - to be able to use such a saying without getting a pang in their lower bellies when they realized that they weren’t on Earth. Being home had more good points than any of them had ever imagined, really.

Strip clubs notwithstanding.

“Why are you so upset about this?” He asked, comfortably reclined on the back seat of the limo.

She faced him, her cheeks still flushed, her breathing slightly labored from frustration, anger and… arousal, he guessed. “Because everyone thinks I’m dating a stripper!”

He’d given her a lap dance, not asked her to dinner. “Are we dating, Kathryn?”

She flushed. “I…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Kathryn eyed him, waiting for an answer. “What’s the real reason?”

Chakotay considered lying to her, her really did.

But the reality of the situation was that he could screw up the best thing in his life if he did that and, though he was stupid enough to dance in a strip club at Jenny and Meagan Delaney’s joint bachelorette party, he was not stupid enough to push Kathryn away again. “I lost a bet.”

“With?”

“Tom.”

The roll of her eyes told him that she wasn’t surprised. “About?”

“You.”

“This is like pulling teeth!” She growled. “What about me?”

“About whether or not you’d cut your hair again.”

“I… you made a bet about my hair?”

It sounded really stupid when she put it like that. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Grinning, Chakotay set his drink down and pulled her body to his on the large back seat, moving the bright pink hat from his head and placing it on hers. “Would you believe that alcohol was involved…”

***

End