Title: Perversion

Author: Jadie

Summary: In this very dark alternate universe, Captain Janeway sets out after the renegade Maquis in Voyager, bringing Tom as bait to lure out his husband.

Warnings: AU, dark and disturbing images, abuse

Owen Paris stormed furiously into the room to find Thomas sprawled out across his bed, humming lazily as he fiddled with a data pad. The youth twisted around abruptly at his father's unexpected visit, coming close to falling to the floor before he managed a more dignified upright position. The admiral's expression was stormy as he surveyed his son. Thomas's own expression was guarded in anticipation of his father's wrath.

“Fourteen years,” he growled, “For fourteen years you have been my son. For fourteen years you have been the heir to the Paris name. And then I read this!” He all but threw the data pad at him. Thomas flinched, recovered, and picked it up. His eyes widened slightly when he read what it said. He turned his eyes back towards his father, and flinched again from the fury in his father's gaze.

“Is it true?” the admiral demanded, “Is this perversion true? Is my son really my daughter?” Thomas bit his lip, then attempted a smile. It came off as more of a smirk.

“Of course not,” he said, proud when his voiced didn't squeak. He even managed to sound slightly indignant at the accusation.

“That's an official medical report,” his father said darkly, and Thomas's smile felt frozen to his face. Owen Paris felt his fury rising. “Well,” he snarled, “It's easy enough to find the truth.” He advanced upon the bed.

Thomas leaped up, his eyes wide with fear but his father shoved him back, towering over him. The admiral's large hand pushed down on his chest, forcing him to lie on his back, not letting him get up again while his other hand began to pull at his son's waist band.

“No!” Thomas cried, but his fear made his struggles wild and ineffective and the admiral soon had his pants yanked down about his knees, exposing his flesh. Ignoring the choked sobbing sounds his son was making, he stared down at Thomas's genitals with anger mixed with horror. The penis was small, more befitting a boy than an adolescent despite the fine blanket of hair surround it. Thomas made the inspection harder as he squirmed to get away, squeezing his legs together tightly in an attempt to restrict his father's access. The admiral responded by yanking his son's pants down further, leaving them about his ankles as an aid to restraining him before he wedged his own knee between Thomas's legs, forcing them apart with brute strength.

“No,” Thomas cried again, this time his voice coming out in a whimper. The admiral didn't even spare him a glance, his eyes firmly upon his inspection. With his free hand he reached between his son's legs, probing the flesh. Though much smaller than average for a male of his age, all the equipment was there. Then he lifted the penis up, pushing his balls out of the way to reveal folds of rosy flesh, familiar yet alien upon a male. His son had a vagina.

Owen Paris ran his finger over it, eying it in disbelieving horror. Though he had expected it after reading the medical report, it was still a shock. He probed, sliding his finger over the impossible flesh, finally finding the opening to an impossibly tight channel. Hoping, somehow, against hope that this abnormality wasn't as complete as it appeared, he pushed at it. At first the opening repelled the blunt intruder, but when he applied more pressure it finally gave, and his finger slid slowly inside. Tom's protesting whimpers turned to distressed sobs but the admiral didn't even seem to hear, intent upon his own exploration of the perversion that was his son. The channel was hot and soft and so incredibly tight that he had to jab with vicious strength to force his finger in deeper. When it was finally buried in halfway he stopped and simply held it there, staring at how his finger disappeared into his son.

Then he felt muscles clenching, the body jerking, trying to drive him out and he abruptly became aware of his Thomas again. He looked away from his genitals to really see his son. At that moment, with his finger buried deep in heated flesh and those tear-filled blue eyes looked so huge, he felt his own power over this vision of golden beauty and his earlier anger transformed suddenly into desperate lust. He felt more acutely the struggle taking place, his knee wedged between heated legs, and he felt his cock begin to fill. He wanted to take that body and still its struggles, to force his own manhood upon the perversion that could never be a man. He wanted to thrust his dick up that tight, hot passage, to force it open and fuck it deep while he plundered that youthful mouth with his tongue.

Horrified by his own desire, he jerked his finger out of that tight hole and leaped away, shaking slightly. Gods, he thought, what was he doing, molesting his own child? He wasn't a pervert or a rapist, he wasn't a damned Cardassian, he had just needed to know the truth. Now, though, with his anger doused he felt like he was going to be sick. His son, who wasn't a son at all, was curled up on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Thomas,” he began, his voice gentler, but his son didn't seem to have heard him. Slowly, as his horror at his unwanted lust ebbed, he began to remember the medical report that had begun it all.

“That bitch,” he growled; this was her fault, everything. He had had these thoughts because of her; Thomas was the way he was because of her. She had known how much he had wanted a son, how much he had needed a son. And she had Thomas altered in the womb, genetically altered in ways he had been told could no longer be undone, and now it was too late. Owen Paris had his son. He also had his daughter.

And now that she was leaving him, running away, she felt safe enough to let him know her deception. It was her final parting shot: a complete file on the medical technique, official reports filed, a vicious good-bye letter and an empty closet. Well, Owen Paris was not going to let her get away with it.

“No one will ever know,” he growled. He could erase all traces of the medical reports. He had experience in erasing medical reports after all, and doctors who could be paid to be discreet. No one need know the perversion his wife had created; despite his feminine aspects Thomas was otherwise all male. He may have been short for his age, his figure still boyish, but it was unmistakably masculine. So long as Thomas remained clothed and never interred a sexual relationship, it could remain hidden. Thomas would remain his son, he would take up the Paris legacy, join Starfleet and one day become an admiral just like his father.

“I'm sorry about your mother, Thomas,” he said, approaching the ball of limbs that was his child, “We'll choose better for you. Your son won't share your...perversion.” Thomas made no response. His father hardly noticed, his mind already years ahead, planning what needed to be done to protect the family name. He picked up the data pad from where it had dropped on the floor, patted his son's knee, and walked away.

Later, in the dark recesses of the night when he was alone in his bed, he would remember that moment of lust as he touched himself, and from time to time he would wake shuddering from a dream with a cry of 'Thomas!” on his lips and a stain upon his sheets. In the light of day he would be ashamed. He never touched his son again. Whenever he felt the need to discipline him, it was always over a clothed backside. And where once there were hugs, and the ruffling of hair, he kept his hands stiffly at his side. He never touched again.