The BLTS Archive - Obsessions and Compulsions by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com) --- Archive: yes to EntSTCommunity, others please ask Beta: ShakespeareSpot N.B.: Not actually a response to the Singularity Challenge, but it seemed applicable, so I posted it anyway. This story actually popped into my mind while reading spoilers for "Singularity." As the episode was still a ways off at the time, it doesn't really have any bearing on it. I was just intrigued by the sort of compulsive behaviour the various crew members would 'indulge' in. H/C with touches of humour. ~RB --- Trip stormed down the corridor. He was steamed. He was really steamed. Here he and the captain had gone to all the trouble of organising a party for the crew, and Malcolm Reed didn't even have the decency to show up. The party had been going on for an hour now, and the lieutenant hadn't so much as shown his face in the mess hall. The sensors said Malcolm was in his quarters, so that's where Trip was headed now. Malcolm was going to come to the party and enjoy himself if he had to drag him there by his hair. Jabbing at the key pad, Trip input his override and strode into Malcolm's quarters. As usual, they were tidy to the point of being empty. Malcolm himself was not to be seen. The sound of running water in the quarters' small bath told Trip of the man's whereabouts, and he pushed his way into the tiny room. Malcolm stood by the sink, the sleeves of his civilian shirt rolled up above his elbows. He held his hands under the stream of water, scrubbing at them with a manicure brush. When he paused to put soap on the brush and switch hands, Trip noticed the state they were in. He must have been washing them for hours. The man's hands had been scrubbed raw, and blood ran down the drain with the water. Trip had heard of people doing things like this, but he'd never actually known anyone who did it before. "God, Malcolm, what're you doin'?" Blue eyes lifted to meet his own reflected in the mirror. "They won't come clean." "Cap'n and I missed you at the party, Mal." "The party... I can't go until I can get my hands clean." The man looked like he was going to cry. "I can't get them clean. No matter how hard I try, they won't come clean." He started to go back to scrubbing his hands, but Trip stopped him. The engineer firmly removed the brush from his grip and shut the water off. "Mal, c'mon. Let's get you to Sickbay. Phlox'll deal with your hands, okay?" "If you think it's best." "Yeah, I do." --- Phlox had put some salve on Malcolm's abused hands and bandaged them carefully. He muttered something about 'obsessive- compulsive disorder,' but otherwise seemed intent on getting back to some experiment he was working on, only advising Trip to keep Malcolm from removing his bandages and causing more damage to his hands. Trip had tried getting Malcolm to go to the party. Jon had come up with the idea to allow the crew to socialise while the science department was busy studying a black hole, leaving the rest with little to do. Malcolm being foremost in both their minds as one who *needed* to socialise. The Englishman would have none of it. He kept insisting that he felt filthy and couldn't possibly go out in public like that. To Trip, the man smelled like nothing so much as soap, and he couldn't fathom how Malcolm could feel dirty when he was so obviously well-washed. Any attempt to drag him to the party, however, was met with an agitated refusal that bordered on panic, and he eventually gave up. He commed the captain and gave him Malcolm and his regrets. Jon was disappointed, but accepted Trip's explanation that Malcolm was not feeling well and that he was staying to take care of him. Jon approved of the fact that Trip had made a connection with the reclusive lieutenant, even if no one else could. At the moment, Trip was trying not to throttle the man. He was sitting on Malcolm's bunk, reclining against the bulkhead behind him, watching Malcolm pace back and forth like a caged animal. Every so often he would speak up to stop Malcolm from picking at his bandages, but that was the only time either man spoke, and it was all beginning to wear on Trip's nerves. "Malcolm, would you please come sit down?" Trip patted the mattress next to him invitingly, but Malcolm would have none of it. "No, I can't. I'll get the bed dirty. I'll get you dirty." His hands twitched and he shook his head. "How long did Phlox say I had to keep my hands like this? They itch, and I think the salve is starting to crust. I need to wash them." "No, you don't." Trip stood up and crossed the room to Malcolm. He put a hand on either of Malcolm's shoulders, holding the man still. "Mal..." "Trip, don't. I'm disgusting. You'll get dirty." "Mal. You're cleaner than anybody else on this whole damn ship." Trip could feel the tension in Malcolm's shoulders. He started a gentle massage that worked its way down the smaller man's back, pulling him in toward his body. The scent, the closeness of the Englishman was overwhelming. Without conscious thought, Trip found himself suckling on the pale neck, nuzzling under the man's ear and at his jaw. All day, the only thing he could concentrate on was Malcolm. Seeing Malcolm at the party, then wondering why Malcolm wasn't at the party. Now, nothing else existed but the two of them. Trip felt a rush of possessiveness; the beautiful little man was his. Nobody else could have him. Nobody else would have him. "Trip, you shouldn't..." "Shhh... darlin'. Dirty ain't such a bad thing. We c'n wash each other later." Trip looked down on Malcolm with a smouldering expression. "Wash each other?" Malcolm asked, and Trip nodded in reply. "That sounds nice." "Don't it though? But first..." Trip pulled Malcolm tighter to his chest, kissing him fiercely. "Time to get sweaty." Trip was exceedingly glad that they were both wearing civilian clothing. It came off so much faster than the Starfleet uniform. In no time at all they were rolling around, naked, in the lieutenant's bed. Trip was doing his best to map out every inch of Malcolm's body with his hands. His own hands swathed in bandaging, Malcolm simply pressed himself to Trip and explored what of the engineer's body he could reach with his mouth. Nothing short of physical force could have pulled Trip away from Malcolm at this point. He couldn't get enough of the smaller man. When Malcolm managed to push him away long enough to hook his legs over the blonde's shoulders, Trip didn't need to be told what to do. Slowly enough to make him want to scream, he entered Malcolm. Head thrown back, lips parted, Malcolm made not a sound. It was almost disappointing. Trip had always imagined that Malcolm would scream his name and beg for more the first time he penetrated him. Now, the Englishman's quiet control posed a challenge. He would make it his mission to get the man to abandon that control. The man aroused him in a way no other ever had. Being in him, being with him, felt so very right. Trip leaned down to capture the gasping pink lips with his own, letting Malcolm's body become accustomed to having his cock inside it. When he started to feel Malcolm relax around him, Trip began to move. Within two thrusts, Trip was in heaven. Malcolm, gasping underneath him, thrust up in time with his movements, and they joined their lips together, tasting each other's mouths. When they finally came, it was in a rush together, Trip screaming out Malcolm's name, Malcolm silent but for a single choked sob. --- Trip was aroused. Again. Currently, he was feeding Malcolm breakfast -- bite-sized chunks of fruit and bacon -- and each time the man's lips brushed against his fingers his cock twitched. After their initial love-making session, Malcolm had fallen asleep, and Trip had lain there watching him. It was mildly surprising to Trip that simply watching his new lover sleep was enough to make him hard again so soon after sex. More surprising was the fact that the problem had needed to be remedied twice with self-administered hand-jobs before Malcolm finally woke up. The shower they took then turned into sex as well, after which they both fell asleep. So far this morning they'd made love twice -- once in bed, and once in the shower Malcolm had insisted on afterwards. Trip was starting to think that he was suffering from Malcolm-induced nymphomania. That was when he thought at all. After all, it was damned hard to think around someone as sexy as Malcolm Reed. He really needed to get ahold of himself. If he didn't, he was liable to throw Malcolm over the table and ravage the man in the middle of the messhall. At least the feeding of his lover was justified. After all, how could Malcolm be expected to eat with his hands all bandaged like that? "Trip." "Yeah, darlin'?" "I'm not really hungry anymore, love. Can we go to Sickbay now? I'd like to get these bandages off, if at all possible. I want to be able to use my hands." The lieutenant's deep blue eyes peered up at Trip through the veil of the man's dark eyelashes. The heat in them left no doubt in Trip's mind what it was he wanted the use of his hands for. "Your wish is my command. Let's go see Doctor Phlox." It was too bad, really, that Sickbay and the messhall were both on E deck. Trip would have loved to have taken advantage of the privacy a turbolift could have provided them. Still, the little room Phlox had told them to wait in while he puttered with an experiment seemed private enough. Trip's erection had only got bigger on the way over, watching Malcolm's ass as he walked did that to him, and he desperately needed to do something about it. Two strides brought him up to the object of his affections, and he kissed the man hard. He walked Malcolm over to the room's biobed and stripped the uniform from his shoulders with swift efficiency. The jumpsuit pooled around the lieutenant's legs, shortly joined by the blue underwear he wore. Releasing Malcolm's lips, he turned him around and bent him over the bed. He stripped himself to the same extent, sucking in a breath as his cock jumped free of the restrictive fabric. Spreading Malcolm as much as he could within the restrictions imposed by the uniform around his legs, Trip grabbed the man's hips and thrust into him. It had been several hours since they'd last done this, and Malcolm felt incredibly good around him, so Trip knew he wouldn't last long. Sure enough, he came after only a little bit, biting down on the lily-white neck he'd been nuzzling seconds before. Malcolm cried out at the pain and came himself. The sound of Malcolm's voice sent an extra jolt of pleasure coursing through Trip's veins, and he gave one last thrust before staggering back and away. He managed to collapse into a chair before he fell to the ground. Panting, he sat there watching Malcolm cling onto the biobed for dear life. Trip was almost ready to pull his clothes back on and help Malcolm dress again, when Phlox walked back into the room. "My, my. What have we here? Couldn't quite contain ourselves, eh gentlemen? I'll give you a moment to straighten up." Phlox was grinning gleefully at their discomfiture and did not seem in the least bit contrite about having interrupted. Once the doctor had exited the room, Trip stood and straightened his uniform. A long stride brought him up to Malcolm. He bent down, pulling up the man's underwear and jumpsuit, kissing the muscled flank as his head moved past it. Another reverent kiss was bestowed upon the angry red bite mark on Malcolm's neck before he settled the man's collar in place and zipped his uniform up. Malcolm did nothing the entire time, save to pick at the bandaging on his hands. Trip put a stop to that, placing Malcolm's hands at his sides. He guided Malcolm to the room's chair, seating him out of the way while he went about cleaning the cum off the biobed. When he was finished, Trip left the room to find Phlox. He returned, doctor in tow, to find Malcolm at the little sink, bandages disposed of, scrubbing his hands. "Malcolm! Cut it out. They ain't gonna heal if y' keep doin' that." Trip marched over to his lover and shut the water off. He grabbed the last clean towel to gently dry the abused hands, clucking over them the whole while. "I'm sorry, Trip." Malcolm's eyes flickered between the floor and the engineer's face, and he pitched his voice low so that Phlox would not hear. "When the doctor walked in on us I was embarrassed. I felt dirty, so I washed. I'm sorry." "Hey," Trip knocked his forehead against Malcolm's, "quit sayin' that. You ain't got nothing to be sorry for ... and you ain't got no call to be feelin' dirty 'cause somebody found out that I love you. It ain't wrong to be loved." Malcolm's head snapped up. His sapphire blue eyes were wide with shock. "Love me? You love *me?*" "Sure do." Trip placed a kiss on the end of Malcolm's nose and then pulled back with a confused expression. "What did you think all this love-makin' was about?" Head ducked, Malcolm replied, "I thought it was just sex. I thought you were just ... using me to relieve a bit of tension. I- I'd been admiring you f-from afar for a while and I figured I'd take w-what I could get. N-nob-body's e-ever t-t-told m-me th't they l- lov'd m-me b-before." Malcolm's stuttered admission made Trip's heart break. Such a beautiful, wonderful little man, it was a crime that no one had ever made him feel loved. Trip would have gleefully stood all of the man's ex-lovers, and especially his family, in a row and read them the riot act for such negligence. "Well, you're gonna hear it a lot now. I promise. Whaddya say to havin' the doc look at your hands again now?" Malcolm nodded his acquiescence, giving Trip a small smile. The two turned to Phlox and found the Denobulan happily taking notes. "Excellent, just excellent. Do you suppose I could watch you mate again?" --- "I love you, Malcolm Reed." Malcolm looked up, startled, from his tactical read- outs. "Trip," he hissed, "this is *not* the place." Trip just grinned at him and blew a kiss. Luckily, none of the bridge crew seemed to have noticed, and the blonde disappeared into the captain's ready room before he could do anything else to embarrass his lover. Jon smiled at his old friend as the man walked into his ready room. He'd been hearing rumours about a relationship between his Chief Engineer and Armoury Officer over the past couple of days, but he hadn't seen either in that time. Now he would finally get the skinny, hear all the gory details, from his old buddy, Trip. "Trip, sit down and spill the beans." "Beans? What beans?" Trip feigned an innocent look, though he knew exactly what Jon was talking about. "The ones about you and Malcolm, you old dog." "Now, Cap'n, you know I'm a gentleman. I never kiss and tell." "*Trip.*" The blonde grinned wider. Jonny was whining now, squirming in his seat with curiosity. It was always his biggest weakness, his curiosity, and his mother-henning of the people under his command. Now, Trip was using them both against him for a little harmless fun. Trip plopped down onto the sofa, sighing his best melodramatic, romantic sigh. "Jonny, I am in looove." Jon practically clapped his hands in glee. "I heard you were feeding him bits of fruit in the mess hall the morning after the party. Anything happen that night you'd like to share with your old pal?" "Nah. Nothin' you'd be interested in." "Trip. Come on. I'm the captain here. I have to live vicariously." "Can't y' live someone else's sex-life?" "Ah ha! You did sleep with him!" "Bit more active'n that, Jon." Trip couldn't help himself. His tongue darted out across his lips at the thought of what he an Malcolm had done that night, and the next morning, that afternoon, that evening, the day following that, and hopefully would be doing the coming night as well. He began to squirm himself now, as his penis began to remember as well and demand some attention. "Trip?" "Sorry, Jon, you say somethin'?" "You look uncomfortable, something wrong?" "Not exactly. J'st... Gawd, Jon, I c'n barely think about him without gettin' turned on. I've never been this ... horny before. It's like this constant, aching need for him. And then sometimes it's a lot more'n a need, an' I have t' act on it or explode. It's a miracle I haven't fucked him anywhere real public yet." "You sure you're okay? I mean, I'm happy for you that you've found someone who ... inspires you so, but it doesn't really sound like you, Trip." Solicitousness shone from Jon's face. He was so earnest it made Trip cringe. "Phlox told me Malcolm's had a re-occurrence of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. Maybe the two of you have caught something, and this is another symptom of it." Trip interrupted before his friend could suggest that he go see Phlox himself. "Naw. More like, it's 'cause we're goin' stir- crazy with nothin' to do while T'Pol and her lot are nose deep in read-outs from that black hole out there." "Yeah, you're probably right. Hoshi's practically locked herself in her quarters to work on alien languages and improving the UT. I think Travis spends all of his off time in the gym. Must just be everybody getting antsy." A smile broke out on Jon's face. "At least you and Malcolm have found a more sociable way of passing the time." --- *Three weeks later:* "Malcolm!!" A pair of mischievous blue eyes appeared from between Trip's legs, a lock of chocolate brown hair falling into them roguishly. "You squealed, beloved?" "Yeah," Trip panted out, "quit ticklin' and teasin' and get on with it." Malcolm pouted, though a naughty grin hovered on the edges of it. "Don't you like my foreplay?" "Love it, darlin', but it's been goin' on long enough. You're killin' me." Trip shivered as Malcolm chuckled, a low, breathy sound that made him positively ache. Then his dark haired love was pushing him onto his side and sliding up behind him. He lifted his top leg while Malcolm lubricated himself. Trip gasped as Malcolm carefully pushed himself inside. It was a long, slow love-making session. Both men were utterly exhausted at its conclusion, but also utterly content. The frantic pace Trip had set to their sexual relations initially had slowed once the black hole was left behind and he had a job to do again. All in all, the blaze they had set had settled to a steady glow of hot embers, and it was eminently satisfying. Malcolm's bouts of obsessive-compulsive behaviour had stopped at around the same time. Neither wanting to admit that the captain had divulged what probably was confidential information, nor to inadvertently restart the behaviour by pressing the issue, Trip had refrained from inquiring into what Jon had meant by terming this a 're-occurrence' of Malcolm's obsessive-compulsive disorder. The Englishman would tell him about it himself one day, Trip was sure. He only had to be patient. Half-asleep and rapidly drifting off in the warm tangle of his and Malcolm's limbs, Trip made himself a promise. To keep his promise to Malcolm that the man would be told he was loved often, he would make a point of saying the words every night as they fell asleep and every morning when they woke. Starting now. "I love you, Malcolm." --- The End