The BLTS Archive - Misfits and Miracle Workers
by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com)

---

N.B.: References to "Shuttlepod One," and set approximately one year
after the episode. For the record, I have no idea where this one came
from. Some timeline notes: the events of "Shuttlepod One" take place
in November. Malcolm's birthday is the second of September. The ring
described in the story is, as stated, an embellishment on an actual
ring from 16-17th Century England, which now resides in the Victoria
and Albert Museum. ~RB

---

Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III stood at the bottom of the ladder
in the Jefferies tube leading to phase cannon port number one. He was
watching his subordinate, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, tinker with his
precious cannon. There was a beautiful intensity to the man's face as
he happily made adjustments to the big weapon, and Trip wished that he
could have that intensity turned on him sometime other than when
Malcolm was angry with him. Unfortunately, anger was precisely what he
was going to be rousing in a moment, just as soon as he got up the
courage to give the Armoury Officer his decision.

Taking a deep breath, Trip made his way down the tube toward the
cannon port and his friend. "Hey, Malcolm, how's it goin'?"

Malcolm flashed a grin over his shoulder, replying, "Good. Really
good." He turned to face Trip, happiness and expectancy lighting up
his features. "Did you get a chance to look over my proposal?"

"Yup. That's why I'm here, as a matter of fact."

"And?"

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but the answer is no." It nearly broke Trip's
heart, the way Malcolm's face fell.

"What? Why?"

"It's a good idea, but it's j'st not feasible right now. I've got most
of my engineering crew bustin' their tails on the impulse engine
upgrades already. The rest are workin' on the science scanners that
blew out three days ago. Cap'n and I agree that those two are our
priorities right now, not upgradin' phase cannons that work perfectly
fine. You've got permission to go ahead and work on them yourself, but
you won't get any help from Engineerin'."

"Sir, I only have three people capable of helping me with those
upgrades. It will take us more than a month to do what we could
accomplish in two weeks with help from Engineering." The skin was
drawn taut over Malcolm's sharp bone structure, anger and
disappointment warring for dominance in his eyes. "Isn't there anybody
you can lend me? Even one more pair of hands means we'll be done that
much quicker."

"No go, Malcolm, I'm sorry. I need all of my people right where they
are. Maybe when the scanners are fixed, I can send a few people over,
but I'm not makin' any promises."

"No, of course not. Very well, Commander. Thank you for telling me of
your decision. I'm sure you have a great deal of work to do, so I'll
just return to what I was doing and not keep you any longer. Good day,
Sir."

Commander. Sir. Trip hated it when Malcolm made an issue of his rank.
He preferred being the Englishman's friend to being his superior
officer. More than that, he would have liked to have been Malcolm
Reed's lover, but he knew that, even were the man interested, such a
relationship was too far out of the bounds of what Malcolm's military
mind considered appropriate behaviour. Trip was resigned to the
situation, realising full-well that he wouldn't be able to make a move
toward something more than friendship until some unspecified point in
the future, when they were both desk-jockeys at Starfleet
Headquarters. In the meantime, he kept his feelings hidden,
occasionally crying on Jonathan Archer's shoulder when it got to be
too much.

Just now, it was beginning to feel like too much. Once out of the
Armoury, he found a comm panel and gave Archer a call.

"Tucker to Archer."

"Archer here. What can I do for you, Trip?"

"You got a minute, Cap'n? I could use a talk."

"Sure thing, Trip. It's almost noon. How about meeting me for lunch in
my private mess? We can talk then."

"Thanks, Cap'n. I appreciate it. Tucker out."

---

Malcolm retreated to his quarters directly after coming off-duty. He
was too tired, and too overwrought from his confrontation with Trip
that morning, to have much of an appetite. All he wanted at the moment
was a shower and a good night's sleep. Truthfully, he would have liked
Trip Tucker's help in accomplishing both, but Malcolm considered
himself nothing if not a practical man, and he knew the difference
between reality and silly fantasies.

Stepping into his shower and relaxing into the warm stream of water,
Malcolm considered that, if he couldn't have the real thing, at least
he could enjoy the fantasies. Reaching down to his penis, semi-aroused
by his lingering thoughts of Trip, he began to stroke the organ,
coaxing it into full hardness. In Malcolm's mind, Trip stood behind
him, arms wrapped around him, erect cock pressed firmly to his
backside while he fondled Malcolm's own erection. Tender kisses were
showered upon Malcolm's neck and shoulders, while Trip murmured how
much he loved him. Trip slowly thrust forward against him, forcing him
to thrust up into their hands joined around his cock. Malcolm let out
sounds somewhere between sighs and moans, and the tempo quickened as
his vocalisations further aroused his lover.

Pushed to his limit by the erotic imagery and the pumping motion of
his hand, Malcolm came, seed spilling out and washing away. His
pleasant fantasy swirled down the drain with his cum, and he hurriedly
scrubbed himself down, shutting off the water after rinsing his hair
and stepping into the cold room.

His bed seemed horribly cold and empty as he crawled in, plumping the
pillow before settling his still-damp head on it. Malcolm closed his
eyes and patiently waited for sleep to overtake him, not sure whether
it was better to hope for happy dreams of Trip or a dreamless sleep
that, at least, would not leave him longing for that which he could
not have.

---

"Sir, I'm picking up a distress call."

Archer watched his Armoury Officer's tired gaze lift from his console
at the sound of Hoshi's voice. Turning to face the ensign himself,
Archer made a mental note to have a chat with Reed about his sleeping
habits, preferably before something went wrong. "How far away is it
coming from?"

"Point-eight-five light-years, Captain."

"Give the co-ordinates to Travis. We'll change course to intercept.
Travis, let me know when we get there; I'll be in my ready room. Mr.
Reed, join me for a minute, will you?"

"Aye, Sir."


In his ready room, Archer sat behind his desk while Reed remained at
attention in front of it. The captain studied his officer for a
moment, noting the dark rings under the man's eyes and the abnormally
taut look to the skin stretched over prominent cheekbones.

"So, Malcolm, tell me, how many hours of sleep did you get last
night?"

"Sir?"

"Sorry, perhaps I should rephrase that. When was the last time you
slept, Mr. Reed? Do you even know?"

"I don't understand, Sir."

"What's there to not understand, Malcolm?"

"I don't understand why you're asking me this, Sir."

"Forgive me for saying so, Malcolm, but you look like hell. I've
talked to your staff, and from what I can tell, for the past three
days you've been heading to the Armoury after Alpha shift is through
and pulling both Beta and Gamma shifts working on the cannon upgrades
before coming back to the bridge for Alpha shift again. Zabel and
McIntyre assure me that you have been eating, at least, and you've
obviously been taking time out to shave and shower every morning, but
they're both concerned that you're working too hard. And I can't say
that I blame them.

"You know, Malcolm, when Trip and I gave you the go-ahead to work on
that project yourself, we didn't mean that you should pull shift after
shift until it either got done, or you collapsed from exhaustion. Now,
I'm relieving you from duty for the rest of the day. Your staff is
under orders to notify me if you so much as show your face in the
Armoury outside of an emergency for the next twenty-four hours. Go to
your quarters, Malcolm; get some rest."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm looked as though he'd been forced to swallow some
especially bitter pill, but Archer knew that he would do as he was
told; he was too good an officer not to.

"Oh, and Malcolm, no more working 'round the clock, okay?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Dismissed." He watched Malcolm leave, a stiff set to the
Englishman's shoulders.

There were times when Archer felt that Malcolm was really integrating
well with the rest of the crew, enjoying his crewmates' company,
relaxing and settling in, seeming more at home in general. Then there
were times like this, when he realised how superficial all that was,
because no one but the man's staff had realised that he'd been working
non-stop for almost three full days.

Still, he figured that the man must be coming out of his shell on
something approximating a regular basis for his old friend, Trip, to
have fallen so hard for him. For months Trip had only ever spoken of
Malcolm to Jon when complaining of the power drain his weapons caused
or mumbling darkly about how anyone could possibly be so anal. Shortly
after the two had been rescued from suffocation and hypothermia in
Shuttlepod One, Trip's tune had changed, and for the past year Jon had
been playing father confessor to Trip's unrequited love for the
Armoury Officer.

For his part, Jon had been rather surprised when "that stubborn,
anal-retentive Brit" had become "my beautiful, intense Malcolm." Trip,
he had learned over the years, usually tended toward falling for
people who had already fallen for him, and one thing was certain: if
Malcolm Reed had fallen for Trip Tucker, he wasn't letting on that it
was so. The anguish Trip was going through over his unreturned
affections gave Jon insight into the reasons behind his friend's usual
dating tactics. The terror that Trip felt at the prospect of revealing
his feelings and then being turned down was substantial. He was
convinced that it would ruin his friendship with Malcolm, and likely
his good working relationship with the man as well. Jon wished that
Trip would be forced deal with his feelings for the lieutenant, one
way or another, because as things stood it was tearing Trip to pieces,
and he hated to see his friend suffering.

---

"You know, Captain Archer," said the captain of the alien vessel,
leaning across the dinner table conspiratorially, "I have half a mind
to steal your Commander Tucker away from you. For a man who's never
worked with a warp seven engine before, he's doing a remarkable job
with mine."

Archer smiled back at the odd humanoid, while Trip blushed furiously
next to him. "You can try, but I doubt you'll be able to convince him
to leave his ship and his crewmates, even for a warp seven engine."

"Maybe I'll just warp away as soon as the engines are up; keep him by
default."

"What, as some sort of slave?" Archer asked, playing along.

"Something like that."

"No, I wouldn't recommend it. Trip would make a terrible slave; he's
far too ornery."

"Cap'n!"

"Well you are, Trip. Besides, we both know you'd have plenty of
incentive to try to get back home." The engineer blushed again at the
oblique reference to his feelings for a certain Armoury Officer and
became absorbed in picking at his dessert.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to hire some good-old Hissari engineers
to replace the ones who were killed in the explosion when I get home
with my cargo. It's a shame though; I would have been the envy of my
peers with such an exotic and talented man as Tucker in my crew." The
alien dropped his napkin on the table and began to rise, saying, "Now,
please excuse me, Captain. I really must return to my ship. Thank you
again for your assistance and for a lovely dinner."

"The pleasure is all ours, Captain Sorv'alik," Archer replied. "We
always enjoy lending a hand and meeting new people." He rose and,
opening the door, addressed the Security crewman who was waiting
outside the captain's mess. "Please show the captain to his shuttle."

"Aye, Sir."

"Well, good night, Captain. Thanks for coming to dinner. Trip'll be
over again bright and early tomorrow morning to work on your engines."

"Very well. Thank you, Captain. Mr. Tucker, I shall see you in the
morning."

---

The door slid shut behind the alien, and Archer turned to Trip and
said, "Did you hear that, Trip? You're exotic."

Trip snorted and replied, "Sure did. Funny little fella, ain't he? You
might not realise it, Cap'n, but Sorv'alik has got to be a bit of a
runt for his species. I mean, he may not be much smaller'n Malcolm,
but his crew are all as big as you. Bigger, some of 'em.

"And, man! that hair. Didja see the way his eyebrows kinda sweep up
into his hairline and disappear?"

"Yes, very interesting. I thought the cranial ridges were intriguing.
Kinda reminded me of Klingons, but not so ... walnut like. Malcolm's
probably going to take one look at them tomorrow morning and throw a
fit because I sent you and your team over there without a security
detail. Of course, knowing Malcolm, it won't even take a look; he'll
throw a fit on general principles."

Trip took a measured sip of his coffee and asked quietly, "Did he
really try to work for three days straight?"

"Yes, and he was less than pleased when I relieved him of duty and
told him to sleep."

"I bet. Damn stubborn ... Why does he gotta pull this stupid
passive-aggressive shit? I mean, I know those cannon upgrades are
important to him, but killin' himself over them doesn't do anybody any
good. He's alw's doin' stuff like this; drives me nuts."

"And you still want to spend the rest of your life with this man?"

The question was posed with a serious, slightly confused expression,
but Trip could see the mischievous sparkle in his friend's eye and
knew that Jon was ragging on him. Trip decided that turnabout was fair
play, and his face took on a disgustingly dreamy expression as he
replied, "Yeah. Can't you j'st see it? Him and me in some big-old
house in San Fran, sittin' in the living room drinkin' tea in the
afternoons. We'd have a big, lazy dog and a couple a cats, white
chintz curtains, and a baby grand. Our bedroom would have big bay
windows and a queen-sized four-poster bed with a white lace dust
ruffle."

"Um, Trip... you kinda lost me at the white chintz curtains and the
four-poster bed with lace dust ruffle. I think you'd probably lose
Malcolm about there too. Now a sleigh bed with furs, that I could
see."

"Furs, Jon?"

"Yeah, he's one of those manly men. Remember how keen he was to go
hunting with the Eska on that rogue planet, what'd they call it ...
Dakala?"

"Yeah but... furs? Like real ones?"

"Well, synthetic would probably be better, you could wash those."

"Oh ... Oh, yeah, washable'd be good."

Archer snickered as Trip turned bright red and tried to hide behind
the rim of his coffee cup. "You know, speaking of Malcolm and beds, I
ought to have you stop by his quarters on your way to yours and, ah
... impress upon him the need for a full night's sleep." Jon paused
for a sip of coffee, surreptitiously keeping an eye on Trip's
increasingly shocked expression, before continuing, "You can let him
know, while you're...um... at it, that he'll be accompanying you to
the alien ship tomorrow. That ought to forestall at least a portion of
the fit."

"Jon! Please tell me you're not suggestin' what I think you're
suggestin'."

"That depends entirely on what you think I'm suggesting."

"Jon. Jon! Do I hafta spell it out?"

"Apparently."

"Well ... it sounds t' me like you're suggestin' that I ... screw your
Armoury Officer."

"Believe me, Trip, if I thought it would do any good, I would. Lord
knows you both need it."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Trip. I'd be willing to bet that you haven't been
laid..."

"Jon!!"

"... since before we left space dock, over a year and a half ago.
You're too damn devoted to Malcolm to 'cheat' on him beyond the
occasional flirtation, despite the fact that you have no actual sexual
or romantic relationship with him. I've seen the way you look at him
when you don't think anybody is watching, and it's a damn good thing
you never seem to end up in decon with the man. If you did, you'd have
to find a way of explaining that extra warp nacelle that somehow found
its way into your shorts.

"To top it off, you yourself have told me that you have erotic dreams
about Our Man Reed on an almost nightly basis. So, yes, Trip, I think
you could use a good screw. In the meantime, however, you are driving
me insane."

"Jeez, Jon, when you say it like that, it sounds so ... vulgar."

"Trip," Jon practically sighed out the name, "I don't care how you say
it. Screw, fuck, or make love to, it all amounts to the same thing:
you getting in Malcolm Reed's pants. Or visa versa. I neither care,
nor really want to know.

"Now, Trip, go tell Malcolm that he's going with you to the other ship
in the morning, make sure he goes to bed, and then go to bed yourself.
His or yours, I think you know my preference."

Five minutes later, Trip stood outside Malcolm's quarters, debating
whether or not to hit the button that would announce his presence.
Fear of what Jon would do to him if he didn't at least tell the
Armoury Officer of the captain's plans for the morning finally
compelled him to hit the chime. An immediate invitation to enter
followed, and Trip palmed open the door. When he stepped inside, he
was greeted by the mouth-watering sight of Malcolm Reed working at his
desk, shirtless.

Malcolm leapt to his feet the moment he saw who had walked through his
door, and said, "Commander, please forgive my state of undress. I
wasn't expecting anybody at this hour."

Forgive? Whoa, doggies. Trip, think of cold showers, think of ice,
think of anything but a half-naked Malcolm Reed... preferably before
that third nacelle the cap'n mentioned earlier makes an appearance!

Trip was quite proud of himself when he managed to reply to Malcolm
without squeaking. "No, problem. I was half expectin' you'd be asleep.
Which, by all rights, is what you ought to be doin'."

"Commander, if you don't mind, I've already had my lecture for the
day. If you've something else to say, say it. If not, I would
appreciate it if you'd leave."

"J'st keep yer sh... I mean, j'st relax, will you? I didn't come here
to pick a fight, Malcolm. The cap'n asked me to stop by an' let you
know that he wants you t' go with me tomorrow when I head over to work
on the Galiika's engines."

"The Galiika? What? Oh, the distress call we answered." He motioned
toward a chair, sitting back down himself. "Care to fill me in?"

Trip was relieved at the lifting of the tension in the room and
accepted the invitation gratefully. "Well, their impulse engines are,
at current, less than reliable, but at least they're mostly workin'.
The ship's warpdrive is pretty well shot. Antimatter injectors blew
rather spectacularly. Killed the warpdrive specialist and his second;
the rest of the engineering staff either deals with weapons or life
support systems, or is nigh well incompetent without someone to tell
'em exactly what to do. That's basically what me an' my team did
today; went around an' told 'em what t' do.

"Oh, but Malcolm, you should see that engine! When it's workin'
properly, it's capable of hitting warp seven. It's too bad the weapons
systems aren't on the fritz too. From the looks of things, they've got
some stuff that you'd j'st love to get into. The ship's some kinda
light cargo vessel, transports compact valuables, so it's got some
serious armaments."

"Hmm, what about the crew? What are they like?"

"Their species is called Hissari. They have cranial ridges, kinda like
Klingons, and they are big, most of 'em anyway. The captain's about
your size, but the rest of the crew are real bruisers. The crew
compliment is all male. Not quite sure what's up with that, if it's
the captain's personal preference or some social taboo. J'st to be on
the safe side, I only took male engineers with me to do repairs.
Didn't want to cause any trouble either because they found the idea of
women on a ship offensive or because the crew is sex-starved."

"A wise precaution. Who did the captain send with for your security
detail? Commander, please tell me that you took at least one guard."

"Well, no, not really."

Trip was more or less prepared for Malcolm's reaction, but he still
flinched when the man shouted, "What?! Are you daft?"

"Well..." Trip couldn't meet Malcolm's intense gaze, or rather, his
glare, concentrating instead on the way the cording in the Armoury
Officer's neck stood out when he was tense and the veins that popped
in his well muscled arms as he slowly clenched and unclenched his
fists. In his anger, Malcolm's blood was being routed to his muscles,
which swelled in response to the increased blood flow. At the sight,
Trip's own blood flow was, less than helpfully, re-routed. He was soon
grateful for his sitting position, as his underwear began to feel
uncomfortably tight.

When Trip, hoping desperately that Malcolm wouldn't notice his aroused
state and would assume that his blush was due to the tongue lashing he
was receiving, looked up to the Englishman's face, he found the man
was looking at him with a peeved expression.

"You haven't heard a word I just said, have you??"

Trip knew he must look like a deer caught in the headlights and
decided honesty was probably the best policy. "Er... um... no, no, not
really. Malcolm, look, I'm sorry, okay? You know how the cap'n and I
get when we meet new people. We're like little kids with new toys; we
want to play right away."

"You actively resist my recommendations to take precautions. The both
of you are going to get yourselves killed, or worse, one of these
days, and then whose fault will it be? Mine! Because I didn't do my
job. Because I couldn't get you to listen to reason." Malcolm buried
his head in his hands, trying to regain control. When he looked up
again he was more composed, but there was still a powerful intensity
to him, and his voice shook slightly as he spoke. "Nothing I've ever
done will make a damn bit of difference if I let my captain and Chief
Engineer get themselves killed. My career would be over, and I'd never
be able to look myself in the mirror again. I'd rather die than let
that happen."

"Hey, Mal, I'm sorry. I never thought..."

"Damn right you never thought."

Trip bit back the reply that was forming on his tongue. If he said
what he was going to, the encounter would likely devolve into a
screaming match, and he didn't want to fight with Malcolm. Instead,
confident that his erection had dwindled enough not to prove an
embarrassment, he stood up to leave.

"Tell you what, why don't I j'st go. You're tired and stressed-out,
and you have a big day tomorrow, so I'll get outta here and let you
sleep. Okay?"

"Fine. Whatever."

"Malcolm..." Trip's voice was pleading. He was doing his best to
placate the other man, but Reed didn't seem to be willing to
accommodate him.

"What?" The word was spoken sharply, almost a bark, and Trip flinched.

"J'st ... I'm sorry. For the hundredth time, I'm sorry ... for
everthin' I've ever done to piss you off. I never wanted our
relationship to be like this. Never. I j'st... Good night, Mal. I'll
see you tomorrow."

Malcolm watched him with an unreadable expression as he said his good
night and walked out the door. Trip scuffed his boots along the deck
plating as he walked the few short metres to his own quarters, feeling
drained and heartsick. Tonight would be one of those nights, he knew,
on which he would end up crying himself to sleep.

---

Malcolm stayed in his chair, staring at the door, for quite a while
after Trip left. He couldn't explain why he had become so emotional
and given Tucker such an earful just now. Easily explainable was his
abrasiveness. That was simply his built-in Reed defence mechanism
performing its function and keeping Trip safely at arm's length. It
hurt to keep Trip at a distance, but he knew, with a certainty bred
into him, that it would hurt far worse should he let the man in and
then be betrayed.

He expected nothing less than betrayal. His parents had laid the basic
groundwork for that. Life was hard and long, one should never expect
too much from it, and most people are just wankers who'll take what
they can get from you and leave you with nothing. So said Stuart Reed.
The old man's point had been proven admirably by Malcolm's first, and
only, two serious relationships.

Annalise he had met his sophomore year of college and had fallen
hopelessly in love. She was bright, wild, and more than a little
high-maintenance, and he thought the world revolved around her. A
history major like himself, though with more of a bent toward the
medieval than his own modern history preference, she could stimulate
him intellectually as well as physically. She seemed to be everything
he'd ever wanted in a life-partner, and mid-way through their senior
year he had proposed to her. Her answer had been five short words:
"You've got to be kidding."

Marriage was not on her agenda, and she ended their relationship that
night. He was devastated and coped by throwing himself into his work.
The upshot was that he managed to graduate with a summa cum laude
rather than the magna cum he'd been anticipating, but it was hollow
consolation for the love of his life rejecting him out of hand.

After his undergraduate career, Malcolm put his physics minor to work
for him by pursuing graduate studies in engineering. That was where he
met Marcus. He was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome rogue. His
love was in building bridges. This, coupled with Malcolm's
specialisation in Design and Demolition, gave rise to a running joke
among their friends that "Marc'll build 'em and Malc'll tear 'em
down."

They'd known each other for a year before Marcus managed to seduce his
way past the walls Malcolm had erected around his heart after the
Annalise fiasco. Seduce him he did, though, and soon enough, Malcolm
was in love again. Marcus had shown him what it was like to be loved
by a man. It occasionally struck him as odd that Marcus always
insisted on topping in their sexual encounters, never allowing Malcolm
to penetrate him, but Malcolm thought Marcus loved him and he was
eager to please, so he never raised his concerns.

That relationship ended rather abruptly after a year when Malcolm came
home early from tutoring a physics undergrad and found Marcus with a
strange woman. He had railed at his lover, unleashing the awesome Reed
temper, until Marcus had broken in with his own abuse. Marcus informed
him that he had only initiated their relationship because it posed
something of a challenge and had only held on until something better
came along. Something better had come along, in the form of the blonde
bombshell Marcus had been happily fucking when Malcolm had walked in,
and now they were through.

Malcolm had packed up his few belongings and moved out that night,
heartbroken once more, to stay with a friend until he found a new
apartment. He repeated the pattern from his last break-up,
concentrating on his studies to the exclusion of all else, earning
honours with his Ph.D. in weapons engineering. Seeking something
meaningful to do with his life, and following a childhood dream, he
then entered Starfleet training, ever afterwards devoting only a small
amount of his efforts away from work to a long string of meaningless
relationships with whatever pretty girl or occasional boy caught his
attention.

Once bitten, twice shy; Malcolm had been bitten twice and he was
correspondingly four times as wary as before. It galled him that now
that he'd managed to win the coveted position of Chief Armoury Officer
of Starfleet's precious flagship, the NX-01 Enterprise, he'd had to go
and fall, very much in spite of himself, for one Commander Charles
"Trip" Tucker III. The man was his superior officer, for heaven's
sake, and as he'd told Hoshi once, relationships with co-workers could
be ... awkward, especially if things should turn sour, as they
inevitably did for him.

As much as he might want to seek comfort in Trip's arms at the end of
a long day, Malcolm knew better than to try. The late-night fantasies
involving the golden engineer might not be as fulfilling as the real
thing, but they were far, far safer. No one could be hurt by mere
fantasies.

---

Malcolm stood next to the hatch of what passed for a Jefferies tube on
the Galiika and tried not to fiddle with the phase pistol he wore at
his side. As he couldn't guard every member of the engineering team
simultaneously, and Archer had refused to let him bring a security
team with him, he settled for guarding Enterprise's precious Chief
Engineer, who was currently crawling about the tube, monkeying with
the antimatter injector systems. Though Trip didn't mention their
conversation of the night before, he had accepted being shadowed by
the Armoury Officer with an unusual amount of grace, not protesting
once.

"Hey, Mal," Trip's voice drifted out of the tube, "couldja c'mere and
gimme a hand with these regulators?"

Malcolm poked his head through the hatch and replied, "In case you
hadn't noticed, Commander, I'm an armoury and tactical officer, not an
engineer. I doubt I'd be of much help."

Trip gave him a peeved look and said, "I've seen your personnel file,
Mal. You aren't j'st any weapons jock; you have a Ph.D. in
engineerin'."

"Weapons engineering."

"Mal, they're regulators. It's not warp theory, and you're a more'n
capable engineer. Regardless of field." When all Trip received was a
sceptical look he added, "Wouldja rather stand there all day while I
putts with this, or wouldja like to make yourself useful?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Malcolm crawled into the tube,
grateful that the Hissari were bigger than Humans generally, so that
the maintenance tubes were correspondingly larger. It would make it
easier for the two men to work on the faulty regulators together
without getting in one another's way.

"At least this way I'm out of sight."

"How's that?" Trip asked Malcolm as he sat down next to him.

"Oh, it's just that Captain Sorv'alik keeps wandering by,
oh-so-casually, and the way he looks at me... I don't know. It makes
me uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. He's not quite leering, but... It's like I'm on display or
something."

Trip disliked what he was hearing intensely. Alien captain or no, the
man had no right to be sizing up his Malcolm like he was a side of
beef, especially if the Englishman did not appreciate the attention.
He squelched his sudden urge to become overtly possessive and, instead
of vocalising the threats upon Sorv'alik's life and limb that were
running through his mind, he calmly asked, "Do you want me to do
something about it?"

"No, I'll be alright so long as he doesn't try to feel me up or
anything. If that happens, I will not be held responsible for my
actions."

You and me both, Mal, thought Trip. You and me both.

---

It took a solid week of working on the Galiika's warp engine before
Trip confidently proclaimed that "it's not perfect, but it'll get ya
where you're goin'." He was almost sorry to have to say goodbye
because, for six long days, he'd had Malcolm at his side from the time
they would leave Enterprise early in the morning until they'd return
at night, and they had not argued once the entire time. Trip was only
almost sorry, however, because, as nice as it was to be able to
interact with Malcolm without their conversations turning sour, he was
anxious to get the Englishman away from Sorv'alik.

Trip had done his best to shield Malcolm from the alien captain's
almost palpable gaze. In one encounter during Malcolm's first day on
the Galiika, when Sorv'alik seemed dangerously close to fondling the
Armoury Officer, phase pistol or no phase pistol, Trip had grabbed
Malcolm by the arm, pulling him firmly out of reach, and gave the
short alien a glare that said, in no uncertain terms, that Reed was
off-limits. It was a measure of Malcolm's discomfort with the
situation that he didn't once protest Tucker's handling of it.
Afterward, Sorv'alik had mostly stayed away, but the few times they
had needed to deal with the man, his eyes would still roam freely
about the Brit's admittedly handsome form.

Even now, as Reed and Tucker, the last two of the Enterprise crew
remaining on the other ship, said their goodbyes while they waited for
Travis to return with the shuttlepod, Sorv'alik eyed Malcolm with a
hungry intensity. Trip interposed himself between his friend and the
alien, speaking to him to draw his attention.

"Well, Captain Sorv'alik, it was a real pleasure gettin' to work on
your ship's engine, but I best be gettin' back to work on m' own
lady-love. Need to see how my second's doin' on the impulse engine
upgrades we were workin' on before we stopped to give y'all a hand."

"You know, Tucker, I'm really very disinclined to let you and Reed
here go after the miracle you performed in bringing my ship back to
life. I feel I should keep you and, you know, I think I will."

Behind him, Trip could sense Malcolm making a move for his pistol. He
tried to whirl around when he heard the distinctive whine of an energy
weapon and Malcolm's strangled cry of pain, but before he could
complete the movement, he felt the sharp sting of a stun blast, and
darkness engulfed him.

---

"Captain," said Ensign Davies, Reed's replacement at tactical, "the
Galiika is powering up its engines and moving off."

"What? We've still got two people over there." Archer's face was
creased with worry. "Try to get a transporter lock on Reed and Tucker.
Pull them out of there."

"Sir, I can't. The Galiika has energy shielding."

Archer spun to face Hoshi. "Hail Captain Sorv'alik. Ask him what the
hell he thinks he's doing!"

"Sir..," Davies voice cut in, and Archer started to turn toward
tactical, only to be stopped by the picture on the main viewscreen.
The Galiika, with her newly repaired warp seven engines had, in a
distinctive blur of light, just jumped to warp.

"How fast?" Archer asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Warp six-point-five, Sir."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Archer said, "Track their warp trail and
send the trajectory to the helm. Helm, as soon as you've got your
co-ordinates, lay in a course and follow that ship, warp
four-point-five."

---

Malcolm awoke, face pressed into hard deck plating and head throbbing
dully. Sitting up slowly, he discovered Trip's limp form lying an
arm's length away and he pulled himself over to check on his friend.
The blond's pulse was steady, and his breathing even. Thus assured of
Trip's health, Malcolm began observing their jail.

Incongruously enough for a starship brig, the cell was fronted by
old-fashioned metal bars, a small door in which could be opened to
remove and insert prisoners. Considering the generally high level of
technology on the Galiika, Malcolm would have expected a forcefield.
He considered that, perhaps, Sorv'alik considered the bars quaint, and
certainly they wouldn't be subject to disappearing the way a
forcefield would should power be lost in this section of the ship.
Still, there was no lock to pick on the door, so he guessed that it
was held shut by a magnetic lock, which was probably controlled by the
console he could see further down the cell block.

A few meters deep and another few or so long, the cell itself was not
over large, but not cramped either. There was a small alcove with a
toilet in one corner but no sink. Their drinking and washing water
needs seemed to be met by a bucket left just inside the cell door,
which he assumed would be refilled on occasion.

Malcolm shifted his attention from his surroundings back to his
companion as Trip, starting to awaken, moaned. Blue eyes squinted up
at him and he reached a hand down to help the other man sit up.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Malcolm found himself admiring
the engineer, coming to the determination that Trip was awfully damn
cute when he was sleepy and confused.

"Oh man, next time some alien tells the cap'n that 'e's thinkin' 'bout
keepin' me, I ain't brushin' it off as a joke. Damn. Wish 'e hadn't
decided t' keep you too, Mal."

"And what, exactly, do you think he should have done, Mister Tucker?
Let Travis dock the pod again and then say, 'You can go, Reed, but
Tucker stays with me?'" Malcolm delivered a perfect imitation of
Sorv'alik, forcing Trip to grin. "You and I both know how well that
would have worked."

"I coulda ordered you to go."

"Yes, and while we were arguing about it, Travis would have contacted
the captain, Sorv'alik's plan would have failed, and we would be home
right now."

Trip sighed, ducking his head in resignation, and said, "I suppose.
How come you gotta be right all the time, Mal?"

"Because I'm a Reed," Malcolm replied with a haughty expression, "and
Reeds are always right."

This time Trip laughed outright. "Is that so? An' what happens when
two Reeds disagree?"

Trip almost immediately regretted asking. Malcolm's gaze dropped to
the floor, and he replied quietly, "Ahh, that ... that is like the
clash of Titans. Whole worlds are destroyed."

"Hey, I'm sorry, Mal. I didn't mean to bring up such a sore subject."

"No, it's alright. My father and I have rarely ever agreed on
anything. I'm pretty well used to it by now."

Malcolm still didn't look up, and Trip reached out to lay a hand on
his shoulder. He was rewarded with a small smile and Malcolm's stormy
blue eyes rising to meet his own. Trip was caught then, between the
desire to gather the other man to him and kiss away the sadness
lingering in his expression and the frightened little voice screaming
at him to do no such thing. The decision was taken from him in another
moment, when Sorv'alik appeared outside their cell, two guards at his
heels.

"Well, well. What a pretty pair you make. Perhaps I should just gild
the bars of your little cage here, dress you in fine Tholian silks,
and display you to my friends instead of putting you to work. But no,
that would rather defeat the purpose of abducting you in the first
place.

"I need a competent engineer. My last one paid the price for his
ineptitude, rather poetically, I thought, and the two before him
weren't much better."

"You actually expect us to help keep this rust-bucket o' yours
runnin'?!" said Trip, leaping to his feet.

"No, I expect you to keep her running, Tucker. Reed is here because of
his insistence on staying by your side, and he is going to be my
insurance against you doing anything ill considered. I'm certainly not
going to let the two of you crawl around my engine room together,
sabotaging who-knows-what. Be grateful," Sorv'alik continued at Trip's
pissy expression, "that I allow you to stay in the same cell. I could
hold him out of your sight, but I thought you might work better if you
could see that I was upholding my end of the bargain."

"Oh, now ain't that gentlemanly of you? The answer is still no."

"Commander..." Malcolm pitched his voice low, trying to get Trip's
attention without drawing Sorv'alik's. Trip just waved a hand to
silence him and kept right on talking.

"I ain't laying a finger on any o' your systems, so why don't you go
sodomise yourself an' leave us alone?"

"Trip, please..." Standing this time, Malcolm grabbed at Trip's
sleeve, and the engineer finally turned to face him. "Don't make
trouble."

"Malcolm," Trip growled dangerously. He didn't get to say more because
Sorv'alik interrupted him.

"Do listen to Reed, Tucker. If you don't co-operate I shall be forced
to do ... unpleasant things to him. I dare say you'd be lucky to
recognise him when I'm through."

That gave Trip pause and, after a long look into Malcolm's pleading
eyes, he acquiesced. "Fine. I'll do it, but you better not be jerkin'
my chain, Sorv'alik."

"I'm glad you've chosen to see reason, Tucker. You can start making
yourself useful by repairing the impulse engines." He motioned to the
guards to remove Trip. One entered the cell to drag out the engineer
while the other trained his weapon on Malcolm through the bars. "Don't
worry, Reed, I'll send him back to you by dinner."

Malcolm watched as Trip moved away, guard poking him in the back every
time he slowed to glance back at the cell. He planned on spending his
time alone thinking. Perhaps with Trip out of his hair he could come
up with a plan to get them off the Galiika and back home to
Enterprise.

---

Trip had never realised before how tiring it was to have someone
hovering over his shoulder while he worked. The guard seemed to be
convinced that Tucker wouldn't dare try anything devious so long as he
stood a bare two paces behind him all day. Not that the man had any
idea of the difference between making an adjustment that would help
the engines and one that would harm them. In any event, it had been
irritating, and running into the brute every time he turned around had
made Trip tense beyond belief. All he wanted was a little something to
eat and a chance to sprawl out on the floor of his and Malcolm's cell.

He was poked in the back again as his weary steps slowed a fraction,
the guard muttering something to him about how if he picked up his
pace he'd see his boyfriend that much sooner. Trip was too tired to
correct the man, too tired to do more than grunt in reply and try to
shuffle along a little faster.

Boyfriend. Huh, I wish. It'd be so nice t' be greeted wi' a kiss ...
maybe a backrub, too. Could definitely use one o' those right about
now. Make this whole awful situation a lot more tolerable, that's for
sure and for certain.

---

The door to the cell was opened, and with another shove to his back
the guard propelled Trip through the opening. He briefly registered
the sound of Malcolm calling his name before his arms were suddenly
full of amorous Armoury Officer. He had the vague thought that he must
have died at some point during the day, and that his private portion
of heaven just happened to look like the Galiika's cell block. That
notion was quickly disabused when Malcolm began to whisper in his ear.

"Now is the time, Commander, to martial any latent acting abilities
you have and pretend that I am the prettiest girl you've ever set eyes
on. I suspect that there's some sort of surveillance camera around
here, and this is likely the only way we can talk without either being
overheard or arousing suspicions. Sorv'alik and his crew seem to think
that we're an item anyway."

Trip thought that other, more embarrassing things than suspicions
might become aroused communicating in this fashion, but he wasn't
prepared to argue the point. Instead, he played along, doing what he
had craved for so long and wrapping his arms about the man. Nuzzling
under one ear, he whispered back, "I think I c'n handle that. What
d'ya have up yer sleeve, Lew-tennant? I assume you have a plan."

Malcolm pulled back to look dreamily into Trip's eyes, then leaned in
to rub his Hellenistic nose against the blond's ski-slope one. "As a
matter of fact, I do. Is it reasonable to assume that you could set a
number of small things wrong down in the engine room without anyone
being the wiser?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"Think you could sabotage enough little things to completely cripple
the warpdrive?"

"How crippled?" Trip dared to lean in for a light kiss and was pleased
to find Malcolm was into the role enough to return it.

"Enough to leave us dead in the water, preferably, but low warp would
be acceptable."

"Yeah, I could do that. It'd take a few days to set enough things
wrong that the engines would come to a screechin' halt, but it can be
done. None of those idiots down there has a clue as to the way an
engine is to be properly run, so there's nothin' to worry about from
that quarter. I j'st... Well, it's j'st..."

"Just what?" Malcolm's hands were clasped behind Trip's neck, and his
fingers began to play in short blond hair as he leaned back to meet
Trip's gaze.

Trip hugged the smaller man close, rubbing his hands up and down the
muscled back, and buried his face in Malcolm's shoulder. "What about
Sorv'alik? He threatened to hurt you if I tried anythin'."

"You let me worry about him. I'm tough, Trip. I can take a lot, and
Enterprise is probably hot on our trail. It should only take them a
couple of days to catch up if we drop out of warp. Besides, it's our
only real chance of getting home."

"Okay, I'll do it. I j'st hope it doesn't come down to the point where
you have to stand up to that man's abuse. I don't know if I can keep
it up if he hurts you." He planted a kiss on Malcolm's forehead and
stepped out of the embrace. "I need a drink of water," he said in a
normal tone of voice, "and a lie down. My back is killin' me."

Malcolm smiled slightly at him. "I can give you a rub, if you like."

Trip set his water cup back down next to the bucket, which Malcolm had
moved into a back corner, and replied, "That'd be heavenly, Mal.
Thanks." He lay down on the floor in a prone position and sighed as
strong fingers began to knead his stiff muscles.

Backrubs and playactin' bein' Mal's lover. Life could be a lot worse.

---

Malcolm's second awakening in the cell on the alien ship was decidedly
more pleasant than the first. This time, instead of lying an arm's
length away from the Southerner, with a headache and sore from being
dumped in a heap on the floor, he was enfolded in Trip's arms, relaxed
and relatively content. It had been agreed the night before that they
should try to make the charade of them being lovers as believable as
possible, and to that end they had curled up together to sleep.

He enjoyed lying in Trip's arms, and had enjoyed the kissing and
petting they engaged in whenever they had needed to discuss the plans
for sabotaging the Galiika more than he had any right to, he knew. He
felt rather guilty for having taken advantage of the situation the way
he did, but it really was the best way for them to speak privately.
Sorv'alik already thought that they were a couple, so it contributed
no new ammunition to their enemy. So long as Trip thought that it was
all an act, Malcolm could live out his fantasies without the fear of
being hurt. In the end, the guilt over the deception seemed a small
price to pay.

The engineer shifted in his sleep, tightening his hold on the
Englishman. Malcolm snuggled closer in response, hooking a leg over
Trip's and draping an arm across his waist. Face pressed to the other
man's chest, he closed his eyes again, drifting back into
semi-consciousness.

---

Full consciousness flooded back in on Malcolm as the sound of
approaching footsteps reached his ears and registered on his brain. He
and Trip were, by now, utterly tangled together, and there was no way
he could get up quickly as Trip was still deeply asleep.

"Trip. Trip, wake up." The Southerner simply tightened his grip,
crushing Malcolm to him. Malcolm tried to find leverage to push Trip
away, but was unsuccessful. Changing tactics, he shimmied up so that
he could speak in Trip's ear and tried again to wake him. "Trip, rise
and shine, damn it."

"J'ss a few m'r min'ts, darlin'." Trip still wasn't awake, but he was,
at least, closer to consciousness.

"Time to leave your dream girl and return to the real world, my
friend. Damn it, Trip, wake up!!"

Trip jerked awake, startled by the loud voice in his ear. He'd been
having such a nice dream of sleeping in his own bed aboard Enterprise,
Malcolm Reed in his arms, that he hadn't wanted to leave it. Blinking
a few times to focus his sight, Trip became aware of the fact that,
while he might not be in his own bed, he really did have Malcolm Reed
in his arms. A rather perturbed looking Malcolm Reed.

Before either man could say anything the cell door swung open,
admitting a guard carrying a tray of food, which he deposited on the
floor, backing out again. "You have fifteen minutes to eat, Tucker,
and then you're on duty, so quit playing with your boyfriend and get
going."

"Whaa? Oh. I'm up. I'm up." Trip managed to disentangle himself from
Malcolm, who got up and brought the tray of fruit and bread the guard
had left over to him. He was still too groggy to protest when Malcolm
also brought a cup of water for him, though he did make a few
disapproving noises when all it seemed that the Englishman was going
to eat was a small chunk of bread.

"Eat however much you want, Trip. I'll finish up."

"Mal, you need to eat too."

"I am not doing anything, Trip, you are. You need to eat more than I
do." At the unhappy look Trip gave him, he added, "You know it's true.
Now, quit arguing and eat."

"Yes, Mother," said Trip. That earned him a glare, and he gave Malcolm
his best boyish grin in return. He applied himself to his breakfast,
eating as much as his stomach would hold without becoming sick, and
firmly pushed the remainder toward Malcolm. Another cup of water
washed down the meal, and he settled himself next to the Brit,
wrapping an arm around his waist. Trip kissed one cheek lightly and,
under the pretence of nuzzling his "lover," whispered into his ear.

"I thought about our sabotage plans last night and I've decided that
I'm gonna try to set up a cascade failure in the injectors and rig it
so the warp coils fuse as well. Might try for crackin' the dilithium
crystal while I'm at it, but we'll see. After today I'll be able to
give you a pretty good time estimate."

"Mmmm ... that's nice. I like that," was the hazy reply, loud enough
for the guard to hear, but worded so that he would dismiss it as love
talk.

Trip was gaining a new appreciation for Malcolm's acting skills. The
man's eyes were half shut, a small smile twitched his lips and,
sighing gently, he stretched his neck to encourage Trip's nuzzling.
Anyone who didn't know better would believe he was thoroughly enjoying
the attention Trip was giving him. Even though he did know better, the
engineer was finding the display arousing and was almost grateful when
the guard interrupted, keeping him from doing anything he might regret
later.

"Time's up. Let's go."

Trip rose, trying not to let his hand linger on Malcolm. Sapphire blue
eyes met his, and he said, "You take care of yourself now, you hear."

"Take care of yourself, as well, Trip."

"Will do, Mal."

The guard quickly lost patience with their prolonged goodbye and,
latching hold of the neck of Trip's uniform, forcibly dragged him out
of the cell. Trip tried to keep Malcolm in sight for as long as he
could, only walking co-operatively to the engine room when they
rounded the corner, removing the Englishman from his line of vision.
The engineer mentally crossed his fingers, fervently hoping that their
plan would work and that Malcolm would not be forced to pay the price
for the trouble he was about to cause.

---

Three days had passed since Trip had begun work on sabotaging the
Galiika. Everything was going well, although Sorv'alik had been making
unhappy noises about the slow pace of progress Trip was making on the
final repairs to the warpdrive and bringing the impulse engines into
top shape. The alien captain had stopped by the cell once when Trip
was gone, eyeing Malcolm with an odd intensity the Armoury Officer
couldn't quite place, but he hadn't said anything and had left after a
few moments.

Malcolm sat at the back of the cell, trying not to fidget. He was a
man who was used to keeping himself busy, and the long days, with
nothing to do while Trip was gone, were hard on his nerves. The sound
of booted feet nearing the cell block caught his immediate attention,
and he stilled, waiting for their owners to come into sight. Two
guards halted outside his cell, the taller speaking to Malcolm.

"Get up. Captain wants to see you."

Malcolm was feeling peevish from boredom and replied insolently, "And
if I refuse?"

"We'll drag you out, by your hair if necessary."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, the Brit rose and walked to the cell
door. "Well, if you're going to be that way about it... I suppose I
could use a change of scenery. Lay on, MacDuff."

"My name is Krin'tak, not M'cDuff. I do not even know a M'cDuff."

"I deserved that, I suppose. I should know better than to quote
Shakespeare to an alien."

"Watch who you call 'alien,' concubine."

Malcolm bristled and drew himself up to his full height, which was
still considerably shorter than the two Hissari, but he did it anyway.
"And you, Sir," he said, clipped voice dripping with contempt, "will
watch whom you call 'concubine.' I may not be allowed to do anything
useful at the moment, but I am far from being anyone's kept boy. Now,
if you don't mind, I should like to get this meeting with your captain
over with as soon as possible."

The guard merely grunted in reply and, after slapping a pair of
restraints on his wrists, motioned for Malcolm to follow his
companion, falling in behind to keep him in line.

The trip to the captain's quarters did not take long. Malcolm was
surprised upon entering to find that Sorv'alik's personal space,
though large, was not nearly as opulent as he'd imagined. Somewhere
deep in his psyche was ingrained the notion that all evil overlords,
as Sorv'alik undoubtedly was, resided in sickeningly rich surroundings
as a measure of their corruptness. Needless to say, he was taken aback
to discover that this despicable creature's environment was nearly as
spartan as his own on Enterprise. The furnishings consisted of only a
few chairs, a moderately sized bed, and a desk strewn with PADDs, all
in a plain, serviceable style.

"Tucker is being uncooperative," said Sorv'alik without preamble as
Malcolm came to a halt inside the room, guards moving to flank him,
and jolting him from his thoughts. "He's deliberately lagging at
making the final repairs to the ship."

Malcolm stared back at the man dispassionately and replied, "What do
you expect me to do about it? It's not as though I can order him to
speed things up." As if I would anyway.

The alien took a slow step toward him and then another, until he was
within arm's reach of the lieutenant. "Perhaps not, but you can help
me convince him that it would be best if he did not dawdle and cause
trouble."

"I will do no such thing. I have no reason to help you."

Sorv'alik reached out to caress Malcolm's face. Malcolm tried to jerk
away, but the two guards held him in place. "You're a very handsome
creature, Lieutenant Reed. I must admit to having felt a certain ...
desire for you ever since you set foot on my ship. Now seems an
appropriate time to act on it. Give him the drug."

The last words were spoken to the guards, and before he could react,
Malcolm found a hypospray of some strange variety of sedative dumped
into his bloodstream. He couldn't move a muscle, but all of his senses
were super-sharp. Sorv'alik's voice was crystalline in its clarity
when he gave the guards orders to remove Malcolm's clothing. The
scrape of the restraints as they were removed was sharper than
anything so minor had a right to be, and the air of the room hitting
his newly exposed skin was closer to his memory of winter air than
what would belong on a starship.

The guards unceremoniously bent him across the room's desk, the
corners of a stray data pad jabbing painfully into his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Malcolm knew what was coming next,
but nothing could have prepared him for it.

Pain lanced through him. He could hear himself scream, and could hear
Sorv'alik's grunt of pleasure as he buried his cock in Malcolm's body
with one swift movement. "Oh, yes," the man moaned, his foul breath
hot and heavy between Malcolm's shoulder blades. "You're just the way
I imagined you would be. So hot, so tight. It's absolutely exquisite."

Then the man started moving inside him, pulling back so as to be
almost entirely out of Malcolm and then thrusting roughly back in. The
alien captain was not particularly well-endowed, but to Malcolm he
felt huge. It was not unlike what he had always imagined having a
pulse rifle shoved up one's ass would feel like. Like he was being
split in two, reamed out and scoured thoroughly. It didn't help,
either, that his own penis was being rammed against the edge of the
desk with Sorv'alik's every thrust.

His throat was beginning to feel as though sandpaper was being
vigorously applied to it. Unfortunately, over his own screams he could
hear Sorv'alik whispering ultimatums to him as though they were
sweet-nothings.

"Tell him, Reed. Tell him what I've done to you. Let him know that it
was because of his recalcitrantness. Tell him that it needn't happen
again if he co-operates. If he doesn't, if he continues to make
trouble, the punishment will be much worse... After all, my men could
use a little amusement as well as I."

Sorv'alik thrust once more and he climaxed, fingernails biting into
Malcolm's sensitive flesh as he convulsively tightened his grip on the
Englishman's hips. For his part, Malcolm could feel the alien semen
filling him, mingling with his blood, and was afraid that he was going
to be sick. His member now limp and spent, the other man pulled out of
him, brusquely ordering his men to dress Malcolm and drag him back to
the cell he shared with Tucker.

His nerves were raw, and the fabric of his uniform felt unbearably
coarse, but Malcolm managed to hold back all but a few whimpers.
Despite his earlier screams, he would be damned if he was going to let
Sorv'alik derive any more pleasure from listening to him suffer.

The trip back to his cell was made with his eyes firmly shut against
the sickening movement created by the guards dragging him down the
corridor. Luckily, Trip must have still been on-duty in Engineering
when he was deposited in a heap inside the cell. Malcolm managed to
crawl to the back corner of the cell and curled up in a foetal
position, back to the wall. Tears began to burn a path down his face,
and soon sobs began to wrack his body. It was a relief when sleep
finally overtook him, separating his mind from the pains of his abused
body.

---

"Malcolm? Malcolm! Wake up." Trip reached out to shake his friend into
wakefulness, but no sooner did he lay his hand on the other man's
shoulder than Malcolm was sitting upright, pressed into the corner,
and gulping in frightened breaths. "Jesus, Mal! You okay?"

"Trip?" Malcolm relaxed visibly, slumping into the corner. "You
startled me."

"Yeah, I guess. You sure you're alright? Your voice sounds a bit
hoarse."

"I'm fine, Commander. My throat is just dry."

"Your eyes look kinda puffy, too."

"It's nothing, allergies perhaps, but no more than an inconvenience, I
assure you. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of water?"

"Sure, no problem." Trip looked worriedly at his friend. He was
convinced that there was something Malcolm wasn't telling him, but he
also knew how tight-lipped the man could be, and gave up trying to
press the matter for the time being.

Malcolm could tell that Trip did not believe him when he said that he
was fine. He could read the worry in every glance the engineer cast
over his shoulder at him as he dipped a cup of water from the bucket
in the opposite corner. Sitting was quite painful, but Malcolm knew
that doing as he desired and returning to a foetal position would only
confirm Tucker's fears, and then some. Instead he took the proffered
cup of water, draining it, concentrating on the beautiful sensation of
the cool water sliding down his throat rather than the pain in his
backside.

It was imperative that Trip not find out about Malcolm's rape. Once
the Southerner heard about Sorv'alik's ultimatum he would fold like a
house of cards, and Malcolm could not allow that to happen. Trip's
planned sabotage of the Galiika's warp seven engine was their only
chance for Enterprise being able to rescue them. He couldn't
jeopardise that chance. Not for anything.

---

Putting the final touches on the virtual time bomb that would disable
the Galiika's warp drive, Trip considered Malcolm's odd behaviour of
last night and this morning. There was a tenseness to the man that was
not there before, and Trip was fairly certain that he had not slept
all night. The fact that the lieutenant had chosen to discontinue
their habit of sleeping together, opting to stay in his corner all
night, had increased his concern. He desperately wished that Malcolm
would tell him what was going on. The Brit might have worn an
impassive mask, but Trip had been able to see something in his
expressive blue eyes that he had not liked at all. Pain.

Trip knew that his love for Malcolm made him vulnerable. Vulnerable to
the desire to shield him from the pain he knew people like Sorv'alik
were capable of inflicting, and by extension, vulnerable to the whims
of such men. As it was, despite their playacting, he could not bring
the true comfort of a lover to Malcolm to help him face whatever the
captain of the Galiika might have in store for him. Instead, he was
simply a danger to Malcolm and himself should Sorv'alik choose to
exploit his weakness.

The rough voice of Trip's guard broke in on his thoughts, informing
him that it was time to return to his cell. Trip closed the panel he
was working on, giving it a pat before standing and allowing the guard
to take him back to the cell, back to Malcolm.

He was quite pleased with his work. In another two or three hours the
antimatter injectors would break down, totally fried, starting a
chain-reaction of other carefully planned problems that would leave
the Galiika floating dead in space, her warpdrive ruined past the
point, if not of repair, at least past the point of quick repair. It
would take weeks even for a skilled engineer who knew where all of the
damage was to repair the engines, and Trip had absolutely no intention
of helping with the repairs this time around. He was looking forward
to seeing the look on Sorv'alik's face when his own half-assed
engineers told him the extent of the damage.

Walking into the cell, Trip's eyes were immediately drawn to Malcolm.
An expression of pain was etched into his features as he levered
himself up into a sitting position. Unthinking, Trip rushed to
Malcolm's side, reaching out to touch the man. His shock must have
been evident on his face when Malcolm flinched from his touch, wincing
at the sudden movement.

"What's going on, Malcolm? Don't you dare tell me you're alright. It's
obvious to a three year-old that you're in pain."

"I... I just fell asleep in an awkward position. My back feels like
it's been turned into a pretzel, that's all."

"Oh, well, if it's your back that's botherin' you, lie down an' I'll
give you a backrub. After all, I owe ya one."

"No, Trip, that's not necessary."

"I'm the commanding officer here; I'll decide what's necessary. On
your stomach, Lieutenant. Now." Trip had meant the words to be
playful, but he knew immediately that they hadn't been taken that way.
As he watched, Malcolm stiffened, something closely akin to fear
flitting through his eyes. Pink lips pressed into a thin line before
parting again to speak.

"I said no, Commander. Now stop fussing and leave me be." Malcolm's
voice was tense, almost brittle, and Trip backed off with a few
placating hand gestures. He wanted nothing more than to cradle the
other man in his arms and kiss away his pain and worries, but he knew
he couldn't. Even could Trip be sure that Malcolm would not be
horrified by the revelation of his feelings for him, it appeared that
any sort of physical contact was unwanted by the smaller man at the
moment.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave you alone." Trip paused and caught
Malcolm's eye. "J'st so you know," he said casually, the need for
secrecy past, and the former avenue for such communication apparently
closed anyway, "I finished my work and things should be coming to a
head in two or three hours." If anything, Malcolm's expression got
grimmer, but the man nodded his recognition of what Trip was telling
him, and the engineer continued on to the other side of the cell.

Two or three hours. Just two or three hours until their part in
helping Enterprise rescue them would be done. Two or three hours until
Sorv'alik discovered that his ultimatum hadn't been heeded and he came
to give Malcolm over to the pleasure of his crew.

Malcolm tried to keep his mind off of the inevitable, concentrating
instead on how nice it would be to see the faces of his crewmates
again and to sleep in his own bed. When that failed him be began to
run through the upgrades he had devised for the phase cannons,
wondering how his small team was doing on installing them, or if they
were even working on them in his absence. Next, he lead his mind
through routines in every martial arts style he knew. That managed to
distract him so well that he was actually surprised for a moment when
the ship shuddered around him, squealing in protest as she was flung
out of warp by the abrupt shutdown of her engines.

Time was up.

It took a few minutes, but Sorv'alik came barrelling into the cell
block as expected, guards trailing after him, an expression of pure
rage on his face.

"I warned you! Tucker, I warned you what would happen if you continued
to make trouble. I thought you cared more for Reed than this. Or are
you really so stupid as to believe that I wouldn't follow through on
my promises? No matter. My men will enjoy him either way."

Malcolm could feel his guts turning to lead and fought not to be sick.
He could hear Trip yelling at Sorv'alik in his confusion, and tried to
bolster himself with the engineer's anger and outrage.

"What?! What the hell are you talkin' about, you slimy sonovabitch?!!
What do you mean your men will enjoy him?!"

"Oh my, my. You didn't tell him, did you, little whore?" Malcolm
flinched at the address, but did not respond, and Sorv'alik continued.
"How delightful. It changes nothing.

"I want you to know, Tucker, how much I enjoyed Reed yesterday. Quite
a fine specimen; you should be proud to possess one such as him. My
men are not nearly the connoisseurs that I am, but it's been a long
time since any of them has been with a woman, and they'll be grateful
enough to be able to relieve their tensions a bit. Knowing my crew as
I do, I suspect that a number of them will find his screams especially
arousing. I know I did."

Eyes firmly fixed to the floor, Malcolm didn't see the way Trip's face
first bleached of all colour and then turned bright scarlet. He did,
however, hear the stream of abuse Trip hurled at Sorv'alik.

"Why you filthy, rotten, no-good, mother-fuckin', sonovabitch!! I'll
kill you! So help me, God, the moment I'm outta this cage I'm gonna
hunt you down and throw you out the nearest airlock. After I've
skinned the hide offa you like the yella-bellied skunk you are. If you
learn one thang before you die it's gonna be that payback's a bitch.
Nobody, but nobody hurts my Malcolm like that and gets away with it."

Sorv'alik's answering laugh was cold and cruel. "See, I knew you cared
about him."

Malcolm's head was reeling. Trip ... really cares for me? More than
friends? All the more important, then, that I didn't tell him. As it
is ... Lord, don't let him do anything stupid.

The guards entered the cell then, two holding Trip back, two taking
hold of Malcolm and injecting him with more of that damned drug
despite his struggles. He was man-handled out of the cell as the drug
overtook him.

"Take him to the mess hall," said Sorv'alik to the guards holding
Malcolm between them. "Tie him up to the block, and then have everyone
who's interested draw lots for order of go. You have fourteen hours to
play with him, then I want him back in this cell."

Trip's voice was almost painfully loud as he started shouting again.
"No! Damn it, let him go! Sorv'alik, you bastard, don't do this. J'st
wait until I get my hands on you; I'll wipe that smirk off your face!
Malcolm! Oh Malcolm, forgive me. I love you."

As if, Malcolm thought as he was dragged away, there was anything to
forgive.

---

Malcolm whimpered as another of Sorv'alik's men thrust roughly into
him, the brute's huge, greasy hands clutching at his hips. He had
quite lost track of the number of times he had been used thus, but he
suspected that some of the more insatiable crewmen had gone on to
their second and third turns. The drug had, thankfully, worn off some
time ago, leaving Malcolm to experience the pain as he normally would.
It was bad enough that way, but at least the dimming of sensation had
allowed him to stop screaming.

His Starfleet uniform was utterly ruined. The guards hadn't bothered
to strip him before tying him, bent over and splay-legged, to the
thing they called the block. As a consequence, the man who had won the
lottery for which one of them would get to have Malcolm first had slit
his uniform open down the back. The next man had slit open a leg, the
man after choosing an arm, and so on until the abused clothing fell
off of him entirely. He sported a number of long welts from the tip of
the knife they had used, but they were minor compared to what had been
done to the inside of his body.

Somewhere along the line, somebody had broken his tail bone. He could
feel it move with every thrust, adding pain to an already excruciating
situation. Malcolm was convinced that, assuming he survived the
experience, he would never be able to sit properly again. He also
suspected that avoiding anything resembling solid food while he healed
would save him a great deal of discomfort when relieving himself. Once
again, assuming that he survived.

Malcolm had to believe that Enterprise would find them. If he gave up
that hope, he would be lost. He had to hold on to hope, if only that
Trip, at least, would make it home. That alone would make his
suffering worthwhile, give meaning to his sacrifice. If the man he
loved and who, he now knew, loved him in return, made it off of this
ship from hell alive, it would all have been worthwhile.

---

Trip paced the length of the cell, six strides and turn, six strides
and turn, wishing fervently that he could see a clock. Sorv'alik had
said that Malcolm would be returned to him in fourteen hours. Time
deprived as he was in this cell now that he was not being pulled out
for regular shifts in Engineering, he had no idea how many of those
hours had passed. Sleep had eluded him as he waited, his over-active
imagination conjuring up images of what was being done to his beloved
every time he closed his eyes.

If only he had pressed Malcolm harder about what had happened, he
might have got the man to tell him about Sorv'alik's threats; he could
have undone his sabotage and saved Malcolm from his current fate. It
occurred to him, then, that was exactly why the Armoury Officer hadn't
said anything to him. Slowing down the Galiika was Enterprise's only
chance of catching up with them and performing a rescue. Malcolm had
only done his duty, protecting his superior officer, even from his own
weaknesses.

The sound of booted footsteps and something being dragged along the
deck plating broke in on Trip's thoughts. Moments later, the door to
his cell was opened and a naked, unconscious Malcolm Reed was dumped
inside. One of the guards addressed Trip as he scurried over to check
on Malcolm, saying, "Captain said to tell you that you've got
twenty-four hours to decide whether or not you're going to fix the
warpdrive. If yes, you get to keep him," the man gestured at Malcolm,
"if no," he grinned nastily, "we get to play with him some more."

Trip's blood boiled, and he spat at the guard. The big man just
laughed at the blond's antics, walking out of the cell block with his
comrade. When they were out of sight, Trip turned his attention to
assessing Malcolm's condition. Nasty red welts stood out on the
Englishman's too pale skin, and bruises mottled his hips and shoulders
where various crewmen had clung on for leverage. Carefully, he ran his
fingers down the base of Malcolm's spine, swearing as he found the
break in the tailbone.

The sight of the blood caked between Malcolm's thighs disgusted Trip,
and he fetched the bucket of water the guards had brought him fresh
that morning. He dipped the cleanest rag he could find in his pockets
into the water and began to wash Malcolm, doing his best not to make
him bleed more. As he washed his love, Trip cried. He cried for the
pain the man had endured. He cried for his inability to prevent it.
Most of all he cried for the fact that, even if by some miracle the
Brit shared his feelings, Malcolm would probably never let another man
touch him again.

Finished with cleaning Malcolm as best he could, Trip shrugged off his
uniform jumpsuit, placing the smaller man in it and zipping it up. It
was far too big, but it would keep him warm, nonetheless. After
carefully settling Malcolm on his side, Trip lay down in front of him,
wrapping his arms around him. This period of unconsciousness was
likely the last time Trip would be able to hold Malcolm, and he
intended to make the most of it. Moderately content in the knowledge
that the lieutenant was safe for the next twenty-four hours at least,
Trip fell into a deep slumber.

---

Coming awake to the struggles of a panicked Armoury Officer was not
high on Trip's list of best mornings. Malcolm must have only been half
awake himself when he realised that he was being held and went into a
blind panic, thrashing about wildly until he got free of Trip's
embrace. Currently, Malcolm was huddled in the far corner, shaking
like a leaf. Trip sat where he'd awoken, rubbing at sore spots where
Malcolm had struck him and trying to decide what to do.

As Trip sat, considering, one of the guards came in with a breakfast
tray and a proclamation. "You have fifteen hours," he said, no more
than that, and left. Nothing more was necessary, Trip knew what was
meant: fifteen hours to decide whether he would repair the engines or
let them take Malcolm back. Though he would make use of the time
simply to be with Malcolm, Trip did not need it to make his choice. He
knew that he could not let the Hissari use Malcolm again. He would
simply have to hope that the weeks it would take to get the warpdrive
back up would be enough for Enterprise to rescue them.

Trip set all of that aside for the moment, deciding that it would be
wise to try to calm Malcolm and get him to eat. He palmed a piece of
bread and some chunks of dried fruit and crawled over to within a few
feet of the quivering man.

"Malcolm?" There was no response, and Trip tried again. "Malcolm
honey, is it okay if I come closer? I brought food for ya, darlin'."
Trip held the bread out to the other man, trying to coax him into
taking it, but Malcolm still would not acknowledge him. "I'm sorry I
frightened you, holdin' you like that, but it's alright. No one's
gonna hurt you anymore. I promise. Please, Malcolm, you gotta eat."

Eyes so widely dilated as to appear black rather than blue blinked and
focused on him. Another minute and Malcolm spoke with a trembling
voice. "Trip?"

"Yeah, Mal?"

"How ... how long?"

"I figure you've been back about nine hours."

"No, how long do I have until..." Malcolm scrunched his eyes shut and
shuddered.

"Until what, they take you back?" There was a nod in reply, and Trip
continued, "It ain't gonna happen. You're stayin' right here."

"But surely Sorv'alik plans to ... give me to his men again if you
don't fix the ship. Trip ... tell me you're not going to fix the
ship."

"I'm not lettin' those bastards hurt you anymore, Mal. I'd rather
die."

"Trip! What the hell did I just suffer through fourteen hours of ...
of pain and ... and suffering for? What was the point of it all if
you're just going to give in?! How can you do this to me?"

"Malcolm, will you please listen to me? It's gonna take at least three
weeks to get this rust bucket warp capable again, and by warp capable
I mean warp two at best. Enterprise has got to be no more'n a week
behind us. She'll get here in plenty of time, so there's no reason for
me not to repair the ship. Why put you through hell any more'n we have
to?" Left unsaid was the fact that another rape session would probably
kill the small Englishman, or at least permanently unhinge him. As
matters stood, Trip reckoned that Malcolm would be screwed up
psychologically for some time to come, nevermind the physical damage.

"Damn it, Mal, I love you, more'n anythin', and I can't let them hurt
you. Not if I c'n do somethin' about it."

"Trip Tucker, you have got to be the most infernally hard-headed man
I've ever met, but ... I love you, too."

Mouth hanging open, eyes wide, Trip looked like nothing so much as a
landed fish. He wanted, when the initial shock worked its way past his
brain, to crush Malcolm to him in an embrace, but knew that it would
not be appreciated. Instead, he hitched closer and, transferring bread
and fruit to one hand, brought the other to his lips. Malcolm watched
him like a hawk as he kissed the tips of his fingers and then held
them out to the Brit. A trembling hand closed over his own and pulled
it to meet Malcolm's lips. When Malcolm released the hand, Trip
brought it back to his lips, brushing the fingers lightly over them.

"You know, Mal, I wish you'd told me that a long time ago."

"And I could wish you'd told me a long time ago."

"Fair enough. Guess we're both romantic cowards."

Malcolm stiffened a bit at that and replied, "I have my reasons." His
face was lined with remembered pain, and he settled his head back down
onto the cushioning of one arm, picking at the fabric of the jumpsuit
sleeve with his free hand.

Wonderful, j'st wonderful, Trip thought. Not only am I gonna have to
work through what Sorv'alik and his minions did to Malcolm, I'm gonna
have to get past the damage done by previous relationships. Brilliant.
My poor Malcolm. You really have been ill used by the galaxy, haven't
you?

---

Three hours later, and Trip still hadn't been able to convince Malcolm
to eat anything. The Englishman was curled up in his corner in a
depressed funk, eyes tightly shut, misery exuding from his very pores,
and Trip was growing increasingly worried. It had been well over a day
since Reed had last eaten, but he claimed not to be hungry. That was
when he spoke at all, which was becoming rarer as time went on. The
Southerner was deathly afraid that he would end up starving himself to
death and kept at him, hoping to wear down his resistance.

Deciding to try a new tactic, Trip stretched out half an arm's length
away from the unresponsive man. He would see whether or not love
really did conquer all and, murmuring endearments, he reached out to
caress Malcolm's face.

The touch was startling, and Malcolm recoiled from it instinctively,
reflexes working to protect him from possible sources of more pain.
When the touch returned a moment later, he flinched but let it remain.
It was oddly soothing and not very threatening; only one of his
rapists had touched his face, and then only briefly.

Fingers ghosted along his temple, across his cheekbone, and stroked
the hollow underneath. They moved back up to his forehead, playing
with the hair falling across it before running through his mass of
chocolate brown hair. It had been a long time since anyone had touched
him with such tenderness, such reverence, and he began to relax into
the caress.

The sound of a soft voice reached him next. The tone was sweet,
loving, nothing like Sorv'alik's oil slicked voice when he had
whispered threats in his ear as he violated him. At first, he simply
enjoyed the rise and fall of the words, but soon he began to strain to
understand them. One word was repeated time and again; consequently,
it was the first to break through his haze. It was his name. The
shortened form that only one man dared to use.

"Mal. Mal sweetheart. Darlin', please come back to me. You're strong,
Mal, you c'n get through this. I'll help you get through this, Mal,
but you gotta meet me halfway. Mal honey, please. I ain't goin' back
to Enterprise alone. You die and I'm goin' right after. You're my
Eurydice, an' I'll march straight down to Hades to get you back."

Malcolm opened his eyes and focused on the beloved face in front of
him. "Die? I don't want to die. What makes you think I want to die?"
He repeated words he'd said over a year ago, in a far more
life-threatening situation than this. Dredging up a bit of a smile, he
added, "Although, I definitely think I prefer being Eurydice to the
Grim Reaper. Eurydice, at least, was loved."

Trip's relief was writ large across his face, and he replied, "That's
good t' hear, Mal. You know, though, if you don't wanna die, you gotta
eat somethin'. Hungry or not." He continued to stroke Malcolm's hair,
fighting the urge to gather the smaller man to him. He knew it'd be
too much and he had no desire to panic the other man again.

A flicker of mild irritation worked its way across Malcolm's features,
but he nodded his consent. Repeating his earlier motion of kissing his
finger tips and pressing them to first Malcolm's lips then his own,
Trip got to his feet and fetched a cup of water along with the bread
and fruit. He sat back down in front of Malcolm, offering him the food
and water once he'd propped his head up with his hand. Malcolm nibbled
on the offerings half-heartedly, but finished it all under Trip's
watchful gaze. He lay down again afterward, quickly falling asleep.
Trip did not take his eyes from his love, noting the steady pattern of
breaths and sending a silent plea to Enterprise to arrive quickly. He
needed to get Malcolm real medical attention and back to the security
of his own ship, of his home.

---

Four days later, Trip was waist deep in repairs, owing to the fact
that he had done a bang-up job with his sabotage. The matter and
antimatter injectors were fried, the warp coils were fused, as were
the phase adjustment coils, and the starboard plasma injector was
non-operational. Trip rather suspected that the dilithium crystal had
been cracked as well, but he chose to ignore the possibility for the
time being. If the crystal was broken, repairing all the rest of the
warp system wouldn't do a damn bit of good, because he knew there
wasn't a spare on board, and without dilithium to filter the
antimatter, the Galiika wasn't going anywhere. He preferred to let
Sorv'alik believe that progress was being made and that the ship would
be able to get underway as soon as the repairs were completed. Trip
strongly suspected that, should the alien captain learn the dilithium
crystal was ruined, all bets would be off as far as Malcolm's
continued safety was concerned.

The situation was made difficult by Trip's current mode of dress. He
had left his jumpsuit on Malcolm and, as a result, was wearing the
unorthodox combination of his bright blue boxer-briefs, black
mock-turtleneck, and boots. His erstwhile engineering crew and his
guards all felt the need to make comments about his outfit. They all
had a pretty good idea as to who was now sporting the outer layer of
his uniform, and a few of the nastier types had chosen to remark on
Malcolm's attributes and the pleasure of having been able to play with
him for a while.

Trip had nearly killed one man for it. Only the guard pulling him away
had saved the engineering tech from having his windpipe crushed beyond
repair. That the Hissari man was half again as large as he did not
stop Trip. Rage fuelled his speed and strength, and the tech not only
had the guard to thank for his life, but also the fact that Trip was
not holding any tools when he was provoked.

These days, Trip suffered from an almost perpetual desire to haul off
on any and all of the Hissari on sight. Though Malcolm was less
jittery overall now than he had been, nightmares disturbed his sleep
on a regular basis, and he refused to be touched beyond the occasional
light caress to his face or brush of their hands. Every time Malcolm
flinched back from him, Trip mentally added another black mark to the
list against Sorv'alik and his crew.

When alarm klaxons began to sound, lights flashing in time, Trip
nearly jumped out of his skin, so lost he was in his own thoughts. His
guard pulled him away from the injectors he was repairing, manhandling
him from the engineering room and back to the cell. The ship shuddered
as he was pushed through the cell door, and he fell, bruising his
knees and hands on the deck plating. Looking up, his eyes met
Malcolm's across the floor, seeing in them something he'd feared he
might never see shining from the ocean-dark orbs again: hope.

"Enterprise, Trip. It's Enterprise."

The Galiika shuddered again, more violently than before, and Trip
crawled closer to Malcolm.

"She's going to take down the Galiika's energy shielding," the
Englishman whispered, "and then disable its torpedo launchers and
weapons banks. After that, a shuttlepod with an armed boarding party
will be launched ... to rescue us. Who do you suppose will come?"

Trip reached out, catching ahold of the fingers reaching out for him,
and replied, "Cap'n Archer, no doubt. Prob'ly T'Pol as well, an' a few
of your guys. I doubt he'll bring Phlox with on the ship here, but he
might have 'im wait in the pod." Trip followed Malcolm's optimistic
line of thought and did not voice his fear that this attack might be
by Nausicaans or some other opportunistic pirates instead of
Enterprise. He stroked his thumb over Malcolm's hand in a motion to
soothe both the lieutenant and himself as they waited for the battle
to play out.

---

It could have been hours later, or only minutes, neither Trip nor
Malcolm was sure, that the Galiika gave a final groan and shudder, and
then, with an alarming dimming of the lights, all was silent.
Sorv'alik's voice shattered the quiet as he informed his crew that all
hands were to prepare to defend the ship personally: they were being
boarded. The rate at which the sound of weapon's fire neared the cell
block told the two Humans that very few of the Hissari were bothering
to bring the battle to their assailants, waiting instead in their own
areas and hoping to be passed over, their lives spared. Soon enough,
footsteps could be heard entering the block, as well as the sound of
all the cell locks being released simultaneously.

The tall figure of Jonathan Archer ducked into the cell, followed
closely by Sub- Commander T'Pol, and Trip sent a silent prayer of
thanks to the cosmos.

"Trip! Malcolm! Are you two alright? Where's your uniform, Trip?"

Archer loomed over the two men, and Trip felt Malcolm's grip on his
hand tighten, the smaller man's breathing quickening. Before Trip
could warn his friend and captain to keep his distance, Archer,
worried because his Armoury Officer had not risen to meet him, swooped
down to check on the man lying on his side on the floor. Malcolm shied
back, releasing his hold on Trip and wincing in pain as his broken
tailbone was jostled.

In any other situation the look of complete surprise on the captain's
face would have been laughable, but Trip didn't feel like laughing.
Instead, he placed a hand on Archer's shoulder and said, "Jon, j'st
back off."

"What happened?"

"I'll explain later. Now we gotta get him outta here. T'Pol," he said,
turning to the Vulcan woman, "couldja give Malcolm a hand?" He hoped
that the other man would find a woman less threatening and was
rewarded with the sight of her helping Malcolm to his feet and lending
support as she lead him from the cell.

Trip staggered to his feet, helping Archer up as well, and pointed to
the phase pistol holstered at Archer's hip. "You got one of them for
me?"

Archer nodded and, once they stepped out of the cell, waved over one
of the security crewmen. He unzipped the pack on the man's back and
pulled out a pistol, handing it to Trip. The engineer hefted the
weapon in his hand, smiling at the reassuring weight of it. Motioning
Archer and the security officer to proceed him, Trip silently
volunteered to bring up the rear.

Starting out for the shuttlepod, Trip had no thought for anything
other than getting Malcolm safely off this ship and back to
Enterprise. His thoughts wandered, however, when they passed the
opening of a corridor which, he knew from the ship's plan, lead to the
captain's private quarters. The decision was made almost
instinctively, and he ducked down the corridor, no one the wiser.

Trip Tucker was going hunting.

---

In the end the only thing that stood in his path was the lock on
Sorv'alik's door. That was circumvented easily enough by ripping off
the panel casing and hotwiring the door open. Before he did that, he
checked the setting on his phase pistol, Malcolm's voice ringing in
his memory. They have two settings: stun and kill. It would be best
not to confuse them.

It was ridiculously easy. He burst into the room, phase pistol at the
ready. Sorv'alik was standing just inside, behind a functional desk.
The look of utter astonishment on his face when a blast from Trip's
pistol burned a hole in his chest was almost comical.

Trip walked up to the body lying across the desk and checked for a
pulse. Finding none, he said to the corpse, "Sorry we couldn't do the
whole skinnin' ya alive an' shovin' ya out an airlock thang, but I'm
kinda pressed for time. I'll see you in Hell, Sorv'alik."

With that, Trip turned and made his way to the waiting pod, anxious to
see Malcolm and wash his hands of this ship.

---

Sickbay was quiet, as well it should be at four in the morning. Trip
sat in a chair next to Malcolm's biobed, watching him sleep and
playing with his soft, chocolate-dark hair. Trip had been given a week
off-duty to recuperate, and Malcolm had been relieved of duty until
Phlox gave him a clean bill of health, mentally as well as physically.

Trip wondered how long that would be. While he would still be able to
function as Armoury and Tactical Officer, until Malcolm could stand to
be in the presence of another man without flinching he would be unable
to carry out his function as Chief of Security. Most of his security
staff were the stereotypical hulking brutes that tended to be
associated with the profession, the very types who generated the
strongest fear in him. They needed to get Malcolm back on his feet,
able to interact with his own staff, quickly to keep Starfleet Command
from getting any bright ideas about replacing him.

While getting Malcolm back on-duty was Trip's primary concern, having
recently discovered that the man returned his love and not wanting to
be parted from him as a consequence, he also worried about the future
of their relationship. It was hard to restrain himself to barely there
caresses and hand-holding when all he wanted to do was to enfold
Malcolm in a bone-crushing hug and kiss him senseless. He walked
himself through the worst periods with reminders that he could now
touch the Englishman and whisper loving words to him, whereas he could
not do even that before.

Even without the lecture he'd received from Phlox on the issue, Trip
knew it would be a long time before he could make love to Malcolm.
Possibly he would never be able to penetrate him, but Trip was willing
to play the passive role for the rest of his life, if only it meant
that Malcolm could receive some pleasure from physical contact again.
Meanwhile, he still had Jon's shoulder to cry on when his frustration
caught up with him.

Jon. Captain Archer. He had been concerned when the group on the
Galiika had returned to the shuttlepod and discovered Trip was
no-longer with them. When the engineer had resurfaced, he'd asked
where he'd been. Trip had only replied that he'd "had somethin' to
take care of" and left it at that. The answer hadn't satisfied Archer,
and he pressed it again in his ready room once they were back on
Enterprise. Trip hadn't given him an answer then either, revealing
instead that Malcolm had suffered multiple rape at the hands of
Sorv'alik and his crew.

Jon had looked, for a moment, as though he were going to be sick. Trip
couldn't blame him; he'd felt the same way when he found out. The main
difference was that, in Trip's case, rage had replaced the horror
almost immediately. Once Jon had regained his composure he had marched
straight out onto the bridge, ordering Travis to take them away from
the crippled alien ship before he did anything he might regret later.
The question of what Trip had been doing when he'd disappeared during
the rescue was not brought up again.

Trip wondered how much of the truth Jon suspected. Did his friend of
nine-odd years have any idea that he was capable of killing a man in
what was essentially cold blood? He certainly would never have thought
it of himself. The only comfort he could find for himself in review of
his actions that day lay in the fact that it had, at least, been a
clean death, and that no one else would have to suffer because of
Sorv'alik. At the end of the day, though, it was hollow consolation.

Sometimes, however, he still felt immense satisfaction knowing that
the Hissari captain was no-longer among the living. Of course, as soon
as he caught himself thinking that way, he immediately felt soiled.
Times like that, Trip felt as though he should stay as far from
Malcolm as possible, irrationally convinced that he would somehow
contaminate his love just by proximity.

Whenever Malcolm asked for him, however, he came, no matter how filthy
and unworthy he felt. The man was having a hard enough time dealing
with his own demons, he didn't need Trip wigging out on him. He needed
to be strong for his love, a bulwark, not some neurotic panty-waist
who couldn't come to terms with killing a man who richly deserved to
die.

---

Malcolm stirred on the biobed, sleepy eyes cracking open to look at
Trip. "Did you stay there all night?" he asked, voice thick with
sleep.

"I slept on one of the biobeds for a bit, but yeah, I've been sittin'
here most of the night." Trip continued to play with Malcolm's hair,
occasionally stroking his thumb across the man's forehead. Malcolm's
eyes sank closed again as he relaxed into the gentle contact. After a
few minutes they opened again, and Malcolm shifted closer to the edge
of the bed.

"Could you help me to the lavatory? The painkillers Phlox has been
giving me make me wobbly. I can barely stand on my own, let alone
walk. I think it's his way of keeping me from escaping to my own
quarters. The pain certainly isn't that bad. Although, that
osteo-simulator he injected me with to speed the healing of my
tailbone is making the break itch abominably, and the painkiller does
help with that." Malcolm's patented half-grin followed this statement,
and Trip smiled back, relieved to see his sense of humour returning.

"Anythin' you say, darlin'." Trip stood, hands held out to support
Malcolm as he attempted to squirm out of bed without sitting up. He
stayed a careful arm's length away from the Englishman, helping him to
Sickbay's small full bath with a hand on his back, ready to catch him
should he stumble. Though Malcolm was considerably shakier on the way
back to his biobed, Trip fought the urge to wrap his arm around the
shorter man's waist, maintaining the same careful distance as before.

When they reached the bed again, Malcolm made no immediate move to
climb back in. Tiny tremors running along his frame, he instead turned
to Trip and slowly insinuated himself into the blond's embrace. He
wrapped his arms around the engineer tightly, burying his face in the
man's shoulder, desperately trying to stop the quaking of his body.

At first, Trip was frozen in shock. He had been prepared for a much
longer wait before Malcolm showed any interest in prolonged physical
contact. Rubbing his cheek against Malcolm's dark hair, Trip slipped
his arms around the trembling man. He let his hands run slowly up and
down the Englishman's back, trying to soothe him with the gentle
contact, and murmured sweet nothings to him.

After a while, Malcolm pulled away and clambered awkwardly back up
onto the biobed. When he was once again settled comfortably on his
side, facing Trip, the engineer returned to his seat. He took hold of
Malcolm's hand, twining their fingers together before speaking.

"Where did that come from? Not that I'm complainin', but you didn't
seem exactly comfortable with it."

"Phlox suggested yesterday that I might push my comfort level around
other men, to try an...and desensitise myself. I thought that it would
be easiest to ... to start with you." He paused, squeezing Trip's
hand. "And I've been wanting to do that for a long time now.

"I know up here," he said tapping his forehead, "that you're not going
to hurt me, that no one on Enterprise would, but there's this part of
me that's waiting to wake up and find that I'm still ... tied to that
block in the Galiika's mess. It's going to take a while, I think, to
convince myself that this is all real, that the nightmare is over. I
want you to know that if ... if you get tired of waiting for me, I'll
understand."

"Hey, don't say things like that. I've waited for you for over a year
already, I c'n hold on a while longer yet. At least now I know you
love me. That's worth a lot to me, Mal. We'll get through this
together, I promise."

---

Two and a half months passed with what was either astonishing speed or
excruciating slowness, Malcolm was unable to quite decide. He was back
working Tactical and in the Armoury full time, and was supervising
Security. Training his few female staff was no problem for him, and he
could handle working one-on-one with some of the men, but holding
large group sparring sessions still made him nervous. The one time he
had tried to do so he had a panic attack and had since declined to
tempt fate again. It was, after all, bad form to let one's
subordinates see one flipping out, especially in Security.

Word had gotten around fairly quickly after their rescue that Reed had
been used by Sorv'alik to ensure Tucker's good behaviour and had been
tortured as punishment for the sabotage. Very few of the crew knew any
of the details of that torture, and Malcolm was happy to keep it that
way. So, while everyone was very sympathetic during his, thankfully,
increasingly rare panic attacks and general nerves, they did not fully
understand them.

Changing into loose civilian clothing, Malcolm tried to push all of
that from his mind. He had plans for the evening, which did not
include working himself into a writhing mass of insecurities by
dwelling on negatives. Tonight, for the first time, he was going to
make love to Trip.

Granted, it would be nothing like the fantasies he used to have about
what their first time together would be like. There would be no
crawling into Trip's lap and begging to be taken, no bending the
engineer's pliant body over his desk and fucking him silly. Such
things evoked too many bad memories just now, and he was trying to
work around them slowly, not grapple with them head-on. That such
fantasies still gave him a moment's pleasure before the memories
surfaced to haunt him gave him hope that he would be able to act them
out one day, but there was no sense in rushing matters.

No, tonight would be slow and sweet. He would be in total control of
the situation as he pleasured his lover with hands and mouth. There
would be nothing to remind him of his rape. It would be just him and
Trip, the man he loved beyond life itself, in that room. No ghosts or
demons allowed.


The doorchime sounded, and Malcolm called for his visitor to enter.
Trip sauntered in looking supremely relaxed in khaki slacks and
Hawaiian shirt, hair already reformed into its off-duty formation of
random spikes. Without hesitation, Malcolm walked straight into the
arms the Southerner held open to him, hugging the man tightly and
stealing a lingering kiss.

"Despite that atrocious pattern on your shirt, you look lovely, my
dear." "Hey, you said to come dressed comfortably. It don't get much
more comfortable than a Hawaiian shirt."

"I suppose it's alright. You are the honoured guest tonight, and if
you want to be blinding, that's your prerogative. Besides," Malcolm
said with a lascivious smirk, "I don't plan on letting you wear it for
very long."

The startled expression on Trip's face was priceless, as was the goofy
look it degenerated into. "Really?"

"Really." Malcolm smiled back, teeth flashing brilliantly in the low
lighting. "Just so long as I get to call the shots. Agreed?"

"Anythin' you want. I'm all yours, babe."

"I was so hoping you'd say that."

Malcolm unbuttoned Trip's shirt, inching it off his shoulders while he
nuzzled at his neck, letting it fall to the floor. Hands explored the
Southerner's broad back while his mouth familiarised itself with his
chest, and Malcolm began to slowly herd Trip toward the bed. The
little gasps the engineer made whenever he hit a particularly
sensitive spot were intensely gratifying, and for the first time in
months, Malcolm felt himself grow fully hard at the sound.

When they reached the bed, Malcolm coaxed Trip down onto it, laying
the man out and bending over him for a kiss. Reluctantly pulling away,
he turned his attention to removing the remainder of Trip's clothing.
That done, he began to slowly strip off his own garments, putting on a
bit of a show for his intent lover, who was starting to pant. Clothing
flung to the perimeter of the room, Malcolm kneeled at the foot of the
bed to nibble delicately at Tucker's toes.

Trip squealed and squirmed as Malcolm's tongue danced across his
ticklish feet, switching from one to the next at random intervals.
When he'd decided Trip had been tormented enough, Malcolm began to
work his way up one shapely leg, levering himself up onto the bed as
he did so.

Trip was a sight to behold, sprawled out on his bed, beads of
perspiration glittering on his skin which showed a rosy undertone to
the usual gold. A wave of desire washed over Malcolm, accompanied by a
sense of intense satisfaction. Trip was his, all his. No one else got
to see him like this, got to make him squirm and moan. No one.

He nipped lightly high on the inside of Trip's thigh, eliciting a
sharp gasp which made his cock throb in sympathy. Turning his head, he
felt a moment of apprehension as he beheld his lover's blood-engorged
organ, but he ruthlessly repressed it and firmly licked the hard shaft
from base to tip. His tongue played at the head, smearing the pre-cum
beaded there. He held the Southerner's hips to the bed as the man
cried out and bucked forward into the contact.

"Oh Gawd, yes! Malcolm... Oh please, darlin', more." Trip's pleas
turned into an inarticulate cry as Malcolm took the length into his
mouth. Sucking and stroking the organ with his tongue, he delighted in
turning Trip into a quivering mass of pure need. The hoarse shout Trip
gave as he climaxed made Malcolm's own balls contract, and he almost
came as well.

When Trip once again lay still, spent and sated, Malcolm slid up along
the man's side, stealing a kiss. One leg draped over the engineer, he
trapped his cock between his hand and Trip's body, thrusting into the
tight space to bring himself to completion.

He came with a breathless, "Oh, Trip," the moment the other man
touched him. They lay together afterward, touching gently and
recovering from their exertions. Trip was the first to speak.

"I wish this ship had room service. I'm starved, but I don't wanna git
up. It's too nice here to leave."

"I quite agree. I think I might have some biscuits around here. I
could make a pot of tea, and we could dull that appetite of yours
without leaving the room." Malcolm smiled mischievously. "Or even
getting dressed."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"And here I thought it was for my stunning good looks."

"Nope. It's just 'cause you're you. Though you're certainly far from
shabby. The food helps too, of course." Trip grinned roguishly,
eliciting an answering grin from Malcolm. "So, when're you gonna let
me suck you off?"

"Trip! Don't be vulgar," Malcolm said, getting up to make the tea.

"Well?"

"Maybe tomorrow. But only if you behave yourself."

"I'll be good. I promise."

---

Trip had the worst time concentrating on anything either Archer or
T'Pol were saying that morning during breakfast. His mind kept
wandering from the topic of surveying a local stellar nursery to how
he was going to make the evening as enjoyable for Malcolm as the small
man had made the previous one for him. Visions of honey matted chest
hair and strategically placed pineapple rings danced in his head, and
he wondered how many supplies he could talk Chef out of for the
evening's festivities. He wiggled in his chair a bit, trying to ease
the growing tightness of his underwear, and hoped no one noticed. That
hope was dashed as T'Pol's voice cut through his daydreams.

"Commander? Commander Tucker, are you alright?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you were alright. You seem distracted and were shifting
uncomfortably in your seat. Are you well?"

"Uh, yeah, T'Pol, I'm fine." Trip could feel his face reddening under
the Vulcan's scrutiny as he struggled to answer her without being
explicit about what his problem was. "I j'st have a lot on my mind
right now, what with quarterly reviews an' all. I'm sorry if I was
bein' rude."

By the look on the man's face, Archer didn't buy Trip's excuse for a
second, but he kept his mouth shut. Until T'Pol left, at any rate.
Then, he fixed his old friend with a stern look and said, "Okay, Trip,
spill it."

"What?"

"Don't you 'what' me, Trip. You know what I'm talking about. Now,
talk."

"Now, Jon, some things a gentleman j'st does not disclose."

"What?" Archer looked confused and disbelieving, but then realisation
dawned, and his expression turned to one of incredulity. "You mean..?
Malcolm actually let you..? So soon?"

"I w's kinda surprised m'self. He was the aggressor, though. All I did
was lay back an' enjoy the ride. My turn tonight. Say, Jon, d'ya
suppose Chef would give me some honey and fresh pineapple rings?"

"Honey and pineapple rings? No, nevermind, I don't think I really want
to know."

"It's a simple concept, Cap'n. I want to make this as enjoyable and
entertainin' for him as possible. Keep his mind from strayin' to less
pleasant memories."

"You're not going to ... you know... Are you?"

"Not on your life. That's gonna hafta be somethin' I let him do to me
first, an' then wait for him to ask for it. If he ever does. That's
not what it's all about though, so I don't care if I never get to top
again."

Archer bestowed a warm smile on his friend, clasping him on the
shoulder. "If I hadn't been sure already, that statement alone would
have me convinced that you are hopelessly in love with that man. It's
a good thing. He needs your love, especially these days. I doubt he
would be recovering so quickly if not for you."

"Without me he wouldn't have anything to recover from, Jon." Trip's
expression was pained, and his guilt was visible in his eyes. It was a
disturbing contrast to the happiness that had been there only moments
before.

"Don't do this, Trip. I'm as much to blame for this as you are, and
Sorv'alik is the real villain here. You couldn't have foreseen this."

"I saw the way that bastard was lookin' at him. I coulda made him stay
on Enterprise after that first day."

"You and I both know how well that would have gone over. Malcolm would
have come to me to protest your orders, I would have been forced to
side with him, and you would have started this whole adventure with
him angry with you."

"I suppose you're right."

"You know I'm right, Trip."

"Yeah." Trip managed a weak grin to placate his friend.

"Don't think about this anymore. Malcolm needs you to be strong for
him. He needs you to be the man with the honey and pineapple rings,
the man who makes him laugh and will help him enjoy sex again. He
needs the man he loves, and who loves him. Not someone who's so
wrapped in guilt he can barely look at him.

"Now, Trip, go to work. Keep making plans for tonight, and if you
don't have the biggest, most ridiculous grin I've ever seen plastered
to your face tomorrow morning, I will never forgive you."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

---

Malcolm staggered into his quarters, exhausted from a day long battle
with the torpedo launchers. He was seriously considering comming Trip
and asking for a rain check for their date this evening when the sound
of rustling sheets and a breathy sigh made him turn toward the bed.
There, propped up on an outrageous number of pillows, was Trip Tucker,
stark naked save for a ring of pineapple around his erect phallus.

"Where ya been, darlin'? I was waitin' for ya."

Eyes growing wider by the moment, Malcolm spotted a partially empty
jar of honey on the bedside table, the used contents of which appeared
to be dripping down Trip's cock and pooled around his nipples. Hard
pressed not to laugh, and growing aroused despite his tiredness,
Malcolm said, "This would be one of those instances in which one eats
dessert first, isn't it? Or should I run to the mess hall for dinner
now?"

Trip stood slowly, doing his best to walk up to Malcolm in a seductive
manner. Honey was running down his chest from the puddles on his
nipples, and Malcolm let his tongue flick out across his lips in
anticipation of being allowed to suck on those sweetened nubs.

"Definitely a case of dessert first," said Trip. "You wouldn't want it
to spoil, would you?"

"No, of course not."

Trip's sticky fingers reached for his zipper toggle, pulling it down
and then proceeding to tug the uniform off his shoulders. Eyes
sparkling, and an ill-suppressed grin twisting his mouth, Malcolm put
up a token protest.

"Trip, you're going to get my uniform all messy."

"You were plannin' on washin' it at some point, weren't you?"

"Well, yes."

"No problem then, the honey'll wash out. You see, though, I've got it
all over me, an' I was hopin' you'd help me clean up. I figured it'd
be easier if'n y' didn't have any clothes on ... to get in the way, ya
know."

"I see. It's just that sort of problem solving skill that makes a
really first-rate engineer. Captain Archer obviously chose well."
Malcolm gasped as Trip pulled his shorts down and knelt at his feet,
removing boots and socks before rising again and encouraging him to
step out of the clothing pooled at his ankles. The Englishman did as
he was bid, following his blond lover to the bed. He eyed the man
appreciatively as he stretched back out, head and shoulders propped up
by the pile of pillows.

"Where to begin?" Malcolm crawled up onto the bed, straddled Trip's
legs, and began to nibble delicately at the pineapple surrounding the
engineer's honey coated penis. When he had consumed the fruit, he gave
the hard shaft a couple of licks before covering Trip's body with his
own. Squirming a bit to find a comfortable position, he took one
nipple into his mouth, sucking the honey off in long, hard pulls.

Trip's head was thrown back on the pillows, and he was breathing hard.
His hips bucked forward, grinding his cock into Malcolm's stomach.
Hands gripped his shoulders, and Malcolm slid up along his body to
claim a kiss from his gasping mouth. Their hard lengths brushed
together, and the two men instinctively thrust against one another.
Enjoying the pressure and friction, they repeated the action, rubbing
together again and again. Trip had his arms wrapped around Malcolm,
whose hands still clutched at his shoulders, and they plundered each
other's mouths while their thrusting built in speed and intensity.

Pushed to their respective limits, the two men came almost
simultaneously, seed spurting between them and mingling with the
remnants of the honey to create a sticky mess. Carefully rolling
Malcolm off of him, Trip got up and fetched a damp towel from the
bathroom. He cleaned himself and his lover as best he could before
climbing back into bed, arranging the pillows around them into a cosy
nest and flipping the blankets over them both. Malcolm snuggled
closer, and Trip took him into his arms. He nuzzled the man lazily
before finally speaking.

"You know, that wasn't exactly what I'd had planned, Mal, but ... wow.
That was intense."

"Mmmm hmmm."

"Guess I'll have to wait until mornin' for what I was plannin'. How
does a fellatio wake-up call strike you?"

Already falling asleep, Malcolm's reply was a mumbled something that
might have been "You wouldn't dare." Trip couldn't be sure, though,
and he closed his eyes, flipping off the light and muttering,
"Mornin'll be fun."

---

"Malcolm! Malcolm, come back here!" If Trip hadn't been in such a
panic, he would have felt more than a little silly running down the
corridor in nothing but his bathrobe. Crewmembers dotted the hall,
stopping dead and staring in astonishment at the commander as he
pelted by. If there was anyone left on the ship who didn't know of
Tucker and Reed's relationship, news of Trip sprinting through the
ship half naked, bellowing his lover's name ought to be enough to clue
them in.

Everything had been going so well. Three weeks had passed since the
pair had consummated their relationship, and Trip had thought it all
seemed like wine and roses. Stepping out of the shower this morning he
had learned differently. Malcolm was balled up in the middle of Trip's
bed, fully clothed already, and looking perfectly miserable. When Trip
had tried to comfort him, Malcolm had lept out of bed, brushing Trip
off, and run from the room with a strangled sob. Now Trip was running
through the corridors after him, desperate to discover what was wrong.

Trip was fairly certain that Malcolm was heading for the Armoury. He
hoped that it was to hide in a place he felt safe rather than anything
more sinister.

Please, no. Don't let him hurt himself. "Malcolm!"

Trip lunged through the Armoury doors, intent as a hound on the trail
of a fox. He saw a blur of blue uniform duck into the Jefferies tube
leading to one of the phase cannon ports and followed, brushing past a
startled looking Ensign McIntyre, the Armoury's Gamma-shift
supervisor.

Malcolm was sitting on the floor of the tube, just outside port number
one, face buried in his arms, shoulders shaking. The sound of sobbing
echoed inside the Jefferies tubes, making it seem as though the ship
itself were crying, and Trip moved toward his unhappy lover.

"Mal? Malcolm, what's wrong, honey?"

"W-why're y-you h-h-here?"

"Well, darlin', y' seemed kinda upset when y' ran out on me back
there. I wanted t' find out what was botherin' y'."

"Y-you don't w-want me."

"What? What makes you think a silly thing like that? Malcolm, I love
you."

"H-how could y-you? I-I'm u-used, soiled. A-a whore."

"No, you're not. You didn't have any control over what they did to
you." Trip crouched down next to Malcolm, cupping the man's
tear-stained face in his hands. "I fell head-over-heels in love with
you over a year ago, Mal. No outside force is gonna change what I feel
for you. I'm certainly not gonna let a slimy sonovabitch like
Sorv'alik stand between us. Especially when he's dead!"

Trip realised what he'd said too late to recall the words from the tip
of his tongue. He watched as Malcolm's eyes widened, and the
Englishman mouthed, "Dead?" He hadn't ever planned on telling anyone
of his murdering the alien. Now he would find out whether or not
Malcolm could love a killer.

"You killed him? For me?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Never had anyone kill a man for me before." Malcolm sounded
philosophic, and Trip looked at him quizzically.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Well, so long as you don't make it a habit, I think I can live with
it." The glint of humour faded from Malcolm's eyes as he continued.
"Seriously, though, I probably would have done the same. He was a mad
dog. He needed to be disposed of before he hurt anyone else."

On the verge of tears himself now, Trip pulled Malcolm to him in a
crushing embrace. "I w's so afraid that you'd hate me for that. I
hadn't even told Jon what I did... I couldn't face the horror I'd see
in his eyes."

"It's all right, Trip. I understand and ... I love you. So we're both
a bit damaged. We'll just have to fix each other up."

Face buried in the lieutenant's shoulder, the blond replied, "Sounds
good, Mal. Sounds like a plan."

"Wonderful. Now, what do you say to heading back to your quarters and
getting you dressed, love? Wouldn't want any of my staff to catch me
fraternising with a scantily clad engineer in the Jefferies tubes, now
would we?"

"Perish the thought."

---

"Do we have to go?"

"Malcolm," said Trip sternly, "Cap'n invited us to dinner at his table
in honour of your birthday. A' course we have to go. Now, finish
gettin' dressed an' quit lollygaggin'."

"It's not that I don't appreciate the captain's efforts," said
Malcolm, getting up to slip on a comfortable shirt, "he's one of the
few people who's ever bothered to really ... celebrate my birthday,
but I'm exhausted. Couldn't we comm him and ask for a rain check until
tomorrow?"

"No. Tonight's your birthday, we do it tonight. It won't be the same
if we put it off, an' Jon'll be disappointed. Not to mention the fact
that Chef'll have our hides for wastin' a perfectly good dinner."

Trip was adamant, and Malcolm was forced to give in. He followed his
lover to the mess hall obediently, conspicuously stifling a few yawns
in silent protest. Walking into the main mess en route to the
captain's private room, his exhaustion was swept away as he was
assaulted by sound.

"Surprise!!" Malcolm stood there in shock, blinking in disbelief as a
significant portion of the crew, armed with champagne glasses and
headed by Captain Archer, began to sing. "For he's a jolly good
fellow. For he's a jolly good fellow. For he's a jolly good fellow,
and so say all of us! And so say all of us. And so say all of us. For
he's a jolly good fe-elloooww... And so say all of us!!"

Archer approached him, holding out a glass, and said, "Happy Birthday,
Malcolm."

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Malcolm accused Trip.

Trip slipped an arm around his lover's waist and said, "Sure did,
darlin'. Helped organise it too." Much to Reed's embarrassment, he
planted a kiss on the man's temple, drawing an appreciative murmur
from the crowd.

Blushing, Malcolm turned back to his commanding officer and amassed
friends, saying, "Thank you, Sir, everybody. This really wasn't
necessary, but it...it's lovely."

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to start mingling, and
Archer lead his Armoury Officer and Chief Engineer to one of the
hall's tables, which had sparkling confetti strewn on them and
metallic streamer centrepieces. Hoshi, Travis, and Phlox all wandered
over to join them. They each held brightly coloured packages, which
they placed in a pile around the centrepiece. Malcolm could feel his
eyes misting up and he swallowed hard, trying to gain enough control
over himself to speak.

"You all didn't have to get me gifts. It's too much."

"Nonsense," said Archer. "We wanted to."

"Quite," piped up Phlox. "The metallic green box is from the
sub-commander. She would have come herself, but I think she finds
large gatherings somewhat ... trying, and someone had to stay on the
bridge."

"I'll be sure to thank her when I see her." Malcolm took a sip of his
champagne, leaning contentedly against Trip, basking in the affection
these people showed him.

"So," Travis' voice broke in on his thoughts, "are you going to open
any of them?" The young ensign was grinning broadly, and Malcolm bowed
to his friend's eagerness.

"Which one should I open first?"

Malcolm had opened his gifts slowly, nibbling at his dinner and then
on a piece of pineapple cake as he went along, savouring the
experience. Shiny balls of wadded up wrapping paper rolled about the
table and on the floor nearby. Presents from Hoshi, Phlox, Travis,
T'Pol, and the captain were proudly displayed in the middle of the
table. As he took a sip of coffee, Trip slid a small gold box in front
of him. The box hadn't been in evidence before, and Malcolm surmised
that Trip must have had it stashed in his pocket all evening.

Setting down his coffee cup, Malcolm picked up the little box,
carefully prising the paper from it. What was revealed looked
suspiciously like a jewellery box. Lifting the lid, Malcolm's breath
caught in his throat as the ring inside was made visible. Stars
marched around the gold band, each set with a tiny diamond at its
centre. There was an inscription running around the inner curve of the
band, and Malcolm read it out loud as he lifted the ring from the box.

"Many are the stars I see, but in my eye no star like thee."

Across the table Hoshi sighed, "That's so lovely."

"I can't claim credit," said Trip. "The basic design and the poem are
copied from the original, but the diamonds were my idea." Turning to
face Malcolm, he swallowed nervously and said, "I guess this is where
I ask the question that goes with that ring. Malcolm, will ... will
you marry me?"

Malcolm was sure that he'd stopped breathing for a minute there.
Unable to speak as he fought to breathe, he slipped the ring onto the
ring finger of his right hand in answer. He slid his ringed hand
behind Trip's head and pulled his lover ... no, fiancé, in for a kiss.

Silence descended on the room like a shockwave radiating out from the
two men, as party guests noticed the embrace and turned to watch.
Applause broke out when Malcolm finally pulled back and said, "Of
course I'll marry you."

Amid the applause, Trip smiled beatifically and pulled Malcolm to him
for a passionate kiss. The Englishman was forced to abandon his own
chair, straddling the Southerner's lap. The kiss turned from
passionate to downright steamy, and the clapping gave way to catcalls
in response. When the kiss ended, Malcolm looked up rather sheepishly
and stood, tugging Trip up with him.

"Um, if you all don't mind too much," he said to his dinner
companions, "I think I'd like to take my presents," he gave Trip a
sidelong glance, "and retire for the evening."

"I think that would be allowable," said Archer. "Don't you all agree?"
Hoshi, Travis and Phlox all voiced their consent, knowing looks
passing amongst them.

"In that case, we shall say good night to you all."

---

Trip helped Malcolm carry his gifts to his quarters, arranging them
carefully on the Englishman's desk. As soon as the precious objects
were safely out of the way, Trip found himself being stripped by his
eager lover. His shirt was banished to the far side of the room, and
Malcolm sucked and pulled at his nipples while backing him toward the
bed. The back of Trip's legs came in contact with the edge of the
bunk, and he fell onto the mattress. Malcolm kneeled on the floor,
pulling off Trip's shoes and socks before loosening his pants and
divesting him of them as well.

When his Starfleet issue boxer-briefs joined the rest of his clothing
scattered on the floor, exposing his ample erection to Malcolm's
ministrations, Trip about thought he had died and gone to heaven. His
disappointment was intense when the clever mouth and tongue ceased
their dance on his cock. He prised one eye open to see Malcolm hastily
stripping off his own clothing. Blue skivvies hit the floor, revealing
in their absence the man's hard penis, so erect it came near to
touching his flat stomach.

It was a lovely sight: Malcolm aroused, impassioned, for him, only for
him.

Reaching out with his long legs, Trip pulled Malcolm closer,
encouraging him to join him on the bed. The smaller man complied,
kneeling between the blond's muscled thighs and leaning down for a
kiss. The lithe body he loved so much was slowly lowered on top of
his, and Trip moaned, relishing the feel of Malcolm's comforting
weight. Kisses rained down on his heated skin, accented by soft
caresses along his sides.

"Trip?" Malcolm spoke for the first time since he initiated this
lovemaking session.

Trip could hear the note of hesitation in his lover's voice and he
looked up into troubled blue eyes, replying, "Yeah, Mal?"

"Would it be alright if I... I mean, would you be bothered if..."
Malcolm took a deep breath while Trip waited patiently. "I ... I want
to ... to be inside you, Trip. May I?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Of course you may, Malcolm. Anytime you
want."

A tentative smile broke out on Malcolm's face, and giving Trip a quick
kiss, he pulled a tube of lubricant out of the bedstand drawer.
Squeezing a generous dollop of the slick substance onto his fingers,
Malcolm teased them around the opening to Trip's body. Responding to
the impatient whimpers coming from the man, he slipped one, then two,
fingers inside, carefully stretching the ring of muscle. The blond
pushed back against the fingers penetrating him, and was rewarded with
a third and fourth digit pressing inside.

Head thrown back, Trip tried not to scream too loudly as one finger
flicked across the hard nub of his prostate, sending a wave of
pleasure through him. Whole body aching for more, he managed to grind
out a demanding, "Christ, Malcolm, just fuck me will you."

The fingers vanished, but before he could miss them too much, the
thick, hot length of Malcolm's penis had replaced them, stretching him
and filling him at once. Trip's knees came up, almost of their own
volition, as he strove to take in as much of his lover as he could,
and he began rocking his hips in silent encouragement to his partner.
His whole body tingled as Malcolm began to move inside him, and the
incoherent sounds couldn't tumble from his lips fast enough to
properly vocalise his pleasure.

Trip's hands were braced on the wall behind the bed for leverage and,
legs wrapped around the Brit, scrabbling for higher and higher
purchase on the man's back, he met Malcolm thrust for thrust. The
man's balls slapped against his soon-to-be-sore ass, and he revelled
in the sensation. Every thrust, every movement was a sign to Trip that
Malcolm was healing, and that was more precious to him than anything.

Two consecutive thrusts raked across his prostate, and Trip had all
the stimulation he could handle. He came, screaming his lover's name,
and felt Malcolm come as well as his body tightened, vise-like, around
him. When Malcolm collapsed on top of him, spent and utterly
exhausted, he whispered two words into the man's ear: "Thank you."

---

Everywhere Malcolm went that morning it seemed somebody offered him
congratulations on his engagement. So far as he knew, he and Trip were
the first shipboard couple to become engaged, and it had everyone
excited. Their relationship was already viewed with a high degree of
romanticism by most of the crew, who were enthralled with the tale of
mutual unrequited love revealed by kidnapping and torture.

A number of versions of the tale had Trip carrying his broken body off
the Galiika, not relinquishing him until he reached Sickbay. That
Malcolm would not have been able to bear having Trip carry him at that
point was, thankfully, not something that would have occurred to most
of the crew, and he left them with their fantasy.

Stepping onto the bridge for his shift, Malcolm was greeted with a
round of good mornings, and he smiled, returning the salutations.

"Did you have a pleasant evening, Lieutenant?" asked T'Pol.

"Yes, thank you. And thank you for the gift, Sub-Commander. I look
forward to you teaching me how to play it."

"It is an ancient Vulcan game of logic and strategy. I thought you
would enjoy such a pursuit."

"Yes, indeed."

"Did you play with any of your new toys after you left the party,
Lieutenant?" asked Hoshi with a smirk.

"I did play with one," said Malcolm, grinning.

"Hmmm... I didn't hear any reports of holes in bulkheads," Archer
said, joining in, "so it must not have been the antique Andorian
disruptor I gave you."

"No, Sir, I haven't played with that yet."

"You don't seem to have a hangover, so it wasn't the Draylaxian dinner
wine you got from me," said Travis.

"No, no alcoholic binges for me last night."

"I'm betting you didn't start reading either of the books I gave you,"
said Hoshi. "What about the model of the pre-industrial Denobulan
sailing ship from the doctor?"

"No and no."

"Well, that only leaves one thing, Malcolm," Archer concluded with an
impish grin. "You must have played with your new fiancé.
Understandable, I suppose, but don't wear him out. He's still my Chief
Engineer, and I need him to be able to work on occasion."

Malcolm was blushing slightly, but a smile had taken over most of his
face, so he had more of a flushed with happiness appearance than an
embarrassed one. "I shall endeavour to keep that in mind, Sir."

"So, have you two set a date yet?"

"Ah, no, Sir. We haven't discussed that yet."

"I assume you want to have the ceremony on Enterprise."

"I would like nothing better, Sir, and I'm sure Trip would consider it
a real honour to have you officiating."

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Thank you, Sir. I shall make a point of discussing it with Trip this
evening." "No rush. I was just seeing what you were thinking. You
don't have to get married right away. Take your time and get used to
the idea."

---

"Married. I can't believe we're actually married. Though, somehow, I
never envisioned camping out on my honeymoon." Malcolm snuggled
against Trip, watching the flames flicker in the fire they'd built.

"Well, we're not exactly roughin' it."

Chef had sent an ample provision of food which could be easily
prepared over the fire, or in the pod's microwave at least. Fettuccini
Alfredo with garlic bread, a tossed salad, and a bottle of wine had
been their dinner that evening. Dessert was leftover wedding cake.

The pod itself served as their storage space, a windbreak for their
tent, and better shelter should the weather turn foul. The uninhabited
Minshara class planet they now occupied had been rigorously scanned
and re-scanned to make certain there were no unpleasant surprises
lurking before Enterprise had dumped the two of them for their
honeymoon.

"Two full weeks. Just the two of us, with nothing to do."

"I'm sure I c'n think of somethin' t' keep us busy."

"Mmmm... I'm sure you can," said Malcolm as Trip slid a hand up under
his shirt, tracing idle patterns on his chest. "I hope they'll have
finished with our quarters by the time they come back to pick us up."

Trip's quarters and the room next door were being merged together into
quarters for Enterprise's newlyweds as their gift from the engineering
crew. Lieutenant FitzWilliam, who had previously occupied the space
next door, had moved into Malcolm's old quarters as part of the
exchange. Both Malcolm's and Trip's things were being stored in the
cargo bay to keep them out of the way during the reconstruction.

"I'm sure they will be. Any ideas on how to decorate it?"

"Decorate?" Malcolm twisted around to stare at his new husband. "Trip,
they're quarters on a starship, not a new house."

"So? We c'n still make 'em homey. Pictures on the wall, nice bedding,
knickknacks, you know."

"And where do you plan to get these things? Aside from what you
already had in your room?"

"I dunno. Guess I figured we could pick stuff up from places we
visit."

"Hardly conventional decorating."

"We could pro'bly order curtains for the windows from the
quartermaster." Malcolm just gave him a look, and Trip said, "Or not."

"How about we stop worrying about our new livingspace on the ship for
the moment and bank this fire, crawl into our tent, and work on
getting our honeymoon off to a good start?"

Malcolm had moved to straddle Trip's lap as he spoke, and Trip could
feel the growing ridge of the man's erection press against his
stomach. Malcolm's fingers were stroking lightly along the sides of
his face, making him shiver with pleasure and anticipate the joys of
being thoroughly fucked by his new husband.

"Sounds good, but why do we need to leave our fire? It's nice out
here, an' there's nobody 'round t' see." It was true enough, but
mostly Trip just didn't want Malcolm to stop what he was doing to him,
even for the short amount of time it would take to mess with the fire
and retreat into the tent.

"What about Enterprise?"

"What about 'em?"

"Well, the captain did say that they were going to hang around until
tomorrow and 'keep an eye on us' just in case the scans missed
something dangerous. They might be watching."

"If they're fool enough to invade our privacy like that, they deserve
to get an eyeful. Ow! Oh, Malcolm..."

---

"Did Malcolm just bite Trip?"

"Yup, and he seemed to enjoy it ... he's certainly looking happy now."

"Aren't they going to go into the tent?"

"You'd think so."

"Hoshi, Travis, how are our newlyweds doing?" Archer joined the
ensigns in the Situation Room, where they were monitoring the
honeymoon on the planet below.

"Quite well by the look of things, Sir," answered Travis.

"They certainly are..."


The three fell silent as Trip managed to push Malcolm to the ground
underneath him, obscuring the lieutenant from the view of the sensors.
The shirt Malcolm had been wearing was tossed over Trip's shoulder
toward the tent, and he inched into view as Trip started kissing his
way down the Englishman's torso. He was panting hard, eyes half shut,
and he appeared to mutter something as Trip stopped just above the
waistband to his pants.

"I think," said Hoshi, an expert lip reader, "that he just told Trip
to hurry up."

They watched in rapt fascination as Trip began to pull down the zipper
of Malcolm's pants. With his teeth. Malcolm started to squirm, which
earned him a sharp pinch on his stomach and a glare from Trip each
time the zipper was pulled from his mouth.

"Captain?"

Archer jabbed his hand downward, shutting off the video feed from the
sensors. He whirled around to face his Science Officer, who was
regarding him and the two ensigns with the Vulcan equivalent of a
disgusted expression.

"Ah... um... Something I can do for you, T'Pol?"

"I was simply wondering if you thought that Commander Tucker and
Lieutenant Reed would appreciate the three of you ... observing their
sexual activity in this manner."

"No, of course not, it's just... We didn't mean to watch. You see, we
were ... were just checking in ...to see if they were alright, and ...
and they started to ... you know... and we were just kinda ... caught
off guard." Archer's face was, by now, beet red, and he was willing to
bet that an egg could have been fried on his forehead it was so hot.
He looked to Hoshi and Travis for help against T'Pol's raised eyebrow
and stern expression.

"Um, yeah. What he said," said Travis, unhelpfully. Hoshi merely
nodded vigorously in assent.

"So long as you do not get 'caught off guard' again, I suppose that I
may refrain from telling the gentlemen of your ... indiscretion."

It was suspiciously like blackmail, but Archer didn't care so long as
she didn't tell Trip and Malcolm that he'd been spying, however
inadvertently, on their sex life. "Thanks, T'Pol. We won't do it
again."

---

Archer was glad to see, when his officers stepped out of the
shuttlepod, that Trip and Malcolm's honeymoon seemed to have agreed
with them. Both were slightly sunburned and were supremely relaxed as
they walked up to greet their commanding officer. They held hands and
had developed a propensity to gaze at one another with silly
expressions on their faces.

"They're so cute together!" said Hoshi from her place just behind
Archer.

The pair came to a halt in front of the group of their friends,
smiling to see them again. Trip spoke up first, asking, "So, did y'all
miss us?"

"You know we did," Archer replied. "Did you two have a good time?"

"Sure did."

"Malcolm?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, lovely time."

"Good to hear." Archer grinned at the newlyweds, who had reverted to
gazing at one another. "So, would you boys like to take a look at your
new quarters?"

Malcolm's head snapped around at that. "Yes, please."

"Then follow me."

Halting outside the door to the pair's quarters, Archer offered them a
word of warning. "We pulled all of the containers with your stuff up
from the cargo bay and put them in your room, so it's a bit crowded in
there."

"Understood, Cap'n. We'll watch our step."

"So, who gets carried over the threshold?" asked Travis.

"Malcolm, I s'ppose. He's smaller. That okay with you, darlin'?"

"I'm more than willing to pass on the opportunity to throw out my back
... just make sure you don't throw out yours. I'd be very upset."

"That is an excellent caution, Mister Reed," Phlox piped up. "Should
Mister Tucker suffer a back injury I'm afraid that I'd be forced to
restrict his activity for quite some time. That would include sexual
intercourse, and I'm given to understand that frequent sexual activity
is an intregal part of solidifying the bond between mates for humans
in the early stages of marriage."

"Thanks, Doc," said Trip, face pinking in embarrassment. "Glad to know
you're lookin' out for our relationship."

"My pleasure, Commander."

Trip set down his duffel, motioning for Malcolm to do the same, and
proceeded to scoop the lieutenant up into his arms. He planted a kiss
on the pink lips and then nodded to Archer that he was ready for the
door to be opened. A few steps forward and they were in the room, Trip
kissing Malcolm again as he lowered the other man to the floor.

Archer and the others filed into the room after them, carrying in the
men's bags. Trip smiled at them as he pulled away from Malcolm and
then turned to survey his new space. His jaw nearly hit the floor when
he saw the large bed that dominated the centre of the room.

"Where did you get that?! A sleigh bed? With furs! Jon!" Trip whirled
on his old friend, who was grinning like a madman at his reaction.

"That, my friend, is your wedding gift from the rest of the senior
staff. We couldn't have the two of you cramming into a standard bunk
after all."

"Where? How?"

"We picked it up on Druda. Hoshi haggled with the carpenter for us,
and he built it to our specifications. Travis and I hid the pieces in
a couple of crates in the cargo bay and put it together after
Engineering finished converting the two rooms. It's made from Drudan
Bloodwood. Hard stuff. I'm glad I didn't have to carve it."

Trip looked back to the bed. Malcolm had kicked off his shoes and was
climbing into it experimentally. The dark, reddish-black wood gleamed
softly, and the colour was reflected in the sun-bleached highlights of
his husband's hair.

"Thanks, Jon, everybody. It's wonderful."

"This looks like wolf pelt," said Malcolm from his perch in the middle
of the bed as he fingered the fur.

"Synthetic wolf, actually," replied Archer.

"Oh good. Not to be a pest, but what are the pillows and mattress
stuffed with?"

"Only the best in synthetic, hypo-allergenic materials." He smiled at
the surprised look on Malcolm's face. "The doc insisted."

"Thank you. Nice to know I won't suffer from allergies in this
beautiful new bed." Malcolm flopped back onto the pillows, stretching
out full length on the bed. "What is it, queen sized?"

"Yup." Archer watched Malcolm happily acquainting himself with his new
bed and Trip hungrily eyeing Malcolm laid out on the fur blanket,
quickly deciding that it was time to leave the couple alone. "We
should get going and let you two unpack. Don't forget that you're both
back on duty tomorrow morning."

The captain, doctor, and two ensigns exited the quarters with the
barest acknowledgement of their departure by the two men.

"You know, those two are going to be lucky if they get any sleep, much
less unpack anything," Hoshi observed sagely.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Travis asked facetiously.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the sensuous way Malcolm was burrowing into
the bed, or the growing bulge in Trip's trousers. Little things like
that."

---

Trip barely registered the sound of the door snicking shut behind his
friends as they left. He was focused on the man in his bed and the
heat in his groin. Malcolm was lying on top of the fur blanket,
writhing around as he slowly peeled off one article of clothing after
another until he was utterly nude.

"Do join me, darling. This bed is absolutely exquisite." Malcolm
arched his back and smiled at Trip through lowered lashes.

Tearing at his own clothing, Trip closed the distance between himself
and the bed, leaping in next to Malcolm as soon as he too was naked.
He pulled the Englishman underneath him, rubbing their noses together
in an Eskimo kiss.

"It is nice, isn't it?"

"That's what I told you. Oh, please don't move." The request came as
Trip started to lift up off of Malcolm, and the Southerner froze with
a questioning look. "I like the feel of your weight on top of me like
that. It's ... reassuring, makes me feel safe ... loved."

Trip settled back down, kissing his husband gently. He traced one
finger along the bridge of Malcolm's nose and said, "If that's what y'
want, darlin', I won't argue."

Fingers combed through chocolate dark hair, and lips met in a kiss
that started slow and sweet and grew hard and passionate. Malcolm's
hands slid along Trip's back, clutching at firm buttocks and strong
shoulders. The fell into a rhythm of alternately thrusting against
each other, moaning into one another's mouths when their erections
brushed together.

Surprise didn't quite cover Trip's emotion when Malcolm wrapped his
legs around his waist and said tentatively, "Trip, I think that I'd
... I'd really like to have you inside me."

"You sure?"

"Yes. No. I... You won't hurt me. I don't want what those bastards did
to me to stand between us anymore ... to stand between our full
enjoyment of each other. I love you with all my heart, Charles Tucker
the Third. I want to know what it's like to be fucked senseless by
someone I care for like that."

"How you can say such crude things and still sound so romantic is
beyond me, Mal. I'll do it, I'll do anythin' for you, but you gotta
tell me if it hurts or you start feelin' panicky, deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay. Um... Mal, you gotta let me go. Lube's in my duffel on the
other side of the room."

Malcolm quickly released his hold on Trip, spreading his legs wide
with a wicked grin. The blond let his fingers trail across the firm
stomach as he stood.

"Wanton man."

Trip had the lube and was back on the bed before Malcolm could have
second thoughts. Fingers slick and slippery, he reached between the
smaller man's legs, tickling at his balls before slowly working his
way toward his asshole. He kept his eyes on Malcolm's face as he ran
his fingers around the edge of the muscled ring, looking for any signs
of discomfort. When none manifested he carefully inserted a single
finger up to the first joint, stroking the inside of his lover's body.

Malcolm sucked in a shuddering breath, breathing out one word
afterward: "More."

Trip complied, sliding the finger in up to the next joint, pausing
briefly before pushing it all the way in. Pulling it out a bit, he
insinuated another digit in alongside the first, repeating his earlier
actions. By the time he'd inserted four fingers, Trip was breathing
hard himself, his body responding to Malcolm's moans. He removed his
fingers, slicked up his cock, and placed the tip of it at Malcolm's
entrance.

"Baby, I'm gonna push in now, slow and steady. I love you." The head
of his penis popped through the tight ring of muscle, and he repeated,
"I love you. I love you." It became his mantra. A reminder to Malcolm
of where he was and who he was with as Trip buried himself in the
beloved body.

Fully surrounded by the heat of his husband, Trip leaned down,
supporting his weight with one arm and slipping the other behind
Malcolm's shoulders to encourage him up toward him. Their lips met in
a sensuous kiss, Malcolm's arms and legs wrapping around the blond,
pulling him closer.

"Move." The command was low pitched, almost growled out, and
accompanied by a clenching of his muscles around Trip for emphasis.

"Love you. God, how I love you." Trip pulled part-way out and slid
back in with a slow, smooth motion. Again and again he pulled out and
slid in, concentrating hard on keeping the same smooth motion. Trip
could hear Malcolm muttering his name over and over again, and his
pace increased with his excitement.

"Trriiiippp..." The low, drawn out moan neatly undid him, and with
another thrust that raked across Malcolm's prostate, Trip came with
his lover. They lay, tangled together until Trip felt Malcolm shiver
and pulled the fur blanket in around them to trap their body heat.

Malcolm snuggled close and whispered in Trip's ear, "Thank you."

"Welcome." Trip held his husband tight and drifted off to sleep,
knowing that it was all downhill from here.

---

The End