The BLTS Archive - Soft Southern Style
by Regina Bellatrix (reginabellatrix@creativemachinations.com)

---

Archive: Yes to EntStCommunity; anyone else, please ask.

N.B.: CaveMan!Trip plot bunny from EntSTSlash Plot Bunny Adoption
Centre.   I'd always thought it sounded entertaining, then one day I
just had to write  it.  Quite sappy -- call it my Valentine's Day gift
to the list.  ~Regina  Bellatrix

---

"Ahhh-choo!"  Trip snuffled miserably.  *Damn alien flowers,* he
thought,  *why'd they have to be right where I need t' work?*

Trip was operating the heavy coring machinery for the science team
investigating the new Minshara-class planet they had found the day
before.   Preliminary scans had showed the planet had a predilection
for numerous  'quick' ice ages, so Sciences wanted core samples to
study in detail.

He didn't see the fascination.  It was just a bunch of dirt and ice
and  who-knew-what-else.  Still, running the equipment gave him an
excuse to go  planetside for some fresh air.  Too bad said fresh air
was contaminated with  flower pollen, which was staining his uniform
and irritating his sinuses as  he messed with the big machine.

*J'st think what this stuff'd be doin' to Malcolm, poor guy, and
remember  that it could be much worse,* he told himself.

Reed's allergies were notorious.  Mayweather had teased the man
unmercifully for a while about his 'delicate health' until Reed had
leaned  over and whispered something in the boomer's ear.  Whatever it
had been, it  made the young man pale, and the teasing stopped.  Trip
had never been able  to pry out of either man what Malcolm had said,
and the curiosity still ate  at him occasionally.

Another few sneezes, and coring was finally finished for the day. As 
Trip trudged back to the pod, he decided that he'd had enough of alien
pollen  and resolved to send Lieutenant Hess down in his place the
next day. Why not  spread the joy?

---

Luckily, decon was unnecessary, and Trip's sinuses were rapidly
clearing,  so he was free to sate his growling stomach and then crawl
back to his  quarters for a shower and sleep.  All of those things
sounded mighty good to  his tired body, and he set out for E-deck in
search of them.

---

His head was throbbing.  Trip put down his tools and pinched the
bridge  of his nose.  It had started out as a mild pressure when he'd
awoken that  morning, nothing he couldn't work around, and had
escalated into a full-blown  migraine.

He was the senior officer on the ship, and Phlox was down on the
planet,  playing with the biologists, so he commed Reed to let him
know that he was  relieving himself of duty and prescribing bed-rest.
Reed sounded  gratifyingly concerned, but he reassured his friend that
it was just a  headache.

That done, Trip headed for his quarters, fully intending to sleep
until  the headache went away, or Phlox got back.

---

He surged from the black depths of sleep to total wakefulness in an 
instant.  A searching look around relaxed him.  He was in his place. 
No one  else was here.  Why had he awoken?

A sound from his stomach answered that question.  Food.  He needed to 
find food.  Somehow he knew without looking that there was none to be
found  in his sanctuary.  How he had let himself get to such a state
as to have no  food reserve at all, he did not know, but it would have
to be remedied before  he did anything else.


Rising, he left his place, letting his instincts guide him to food. 
When  he found the repository of food, he discovered a few other
individuals  already there, eating, and was momentarily afraid that he
would have to fight  for it.  None of them so much as glanced up at
him, however, and he gathered  up as much as he could carry, bolting
back to his place.

He made the journey to the place-of-food three more times.  The spoil 
from these expeditions he stored in the water-room of his home-place.

Now that his food and water supply was assured, he would do some
investigating of the area around the home-place.  It seemed familiar,
but he  was unsure of specifics in the lay of the land, so it seemed a
good thing to  do.  He needed to be aware of the lairs of predators
and the like.

He had not gone far when another individual appeared from an opening
in  the tunnel.  It paused and then shouted what sounded like a
challenge,  rushing toward him.  His reaction was immediate and
instinctual.  He lashed  out at the smaller individual, catching him
on the temple, felling him like a  log.

Kneeling next to his presumed attacker, he noted that he still
breathed,  which relieved him for some reason.  The individual had
dark, silky hair and  pale skin.  He inhaled his intoxicating scent
and felt a new pressure from  his body.  He wanted a mate.

There was plenty of food in the home-place now.  He could afford the 
luxury of a mate.  This one was nice, familiar almost, and he placed
an  apologetic kiss on the bruised temple before hoisting his new
companion over  his shoulder and taking him back to the home-place.

---

He watched, mesmerised as his chosen mate's chest rose and fell with
his  breathing.  Gently, he drew a hand across the pale cheek and
rubbed his thumb  across his mate's lips, fascinated by the way they
grew pink at the touch.

He wanted to mate with this beautiful creature, now.  Somehow, he knew 
that he should not, however.  It was necessary to wait until he was
awake.   Still, there was no harm in touching.  He would make certain
that his chosen  would bear his scent, that was all.

First, though, he would need to remove the funny skins covering his 
prize.

---

Malcolm felt something tugging at his leg, followed by the
unmistakable  feeling of his uniform being pulled off, and pried open
his eyes with an  effort.  His head throbbed, and it was hard to
focus, especially in the dark  room he was in, but he finally figured
out that he was being undressed by one  Trip Tucker.

Figuring that Trip was probably trying to help him, Malcolm let his
eyes  drift closed again.  He tried to work out of his fuzzy brain
exactly what had  happened to cause all of this.  Had the ship been
attacked?  Had Trip found  him and taken him to his quarters for
safety, or had the Southerner been  present when he was injured?

The sensation of hands caressing his thighs distracted him from his 
attempted train of thought.  It felt rather nice, although he could
have told  Trip that it was unnecessary to check his legs for wounds;
only his head  hurt.

The hands moved higher, suddenly no longer caressing thighs but groin.  
For a moment he wasn't certain that it was real, and once he was, he
spent a  dazed moment wondering what exactly Trip thought he was
doing.  Trip, his  best friend, was feeling him up.  Trip, who would
never hurt him, was feeling  him up while he was mostly unconscious.

Hurt him.

Malcolm's eyes flew open.

Trip had hurt him.  He had struck him for no apparent reason, and was
now  trying to molest him.

In a burst of sickening movement, Malcolm skittered backward into the 
corner of the bunk, pulling his knees up to his chin defensively. He
stared  at Trip, willing the man to stay in focus, trying to determine
how aggressive  he seemed.  Mostly, Trip seemed confused. He decided
to try talking to him.

"Trip, what's going on?  Why did you attack me?  Why am I here?" The 
confused look remained, and Trip did not answer.  He tried again. "My
head,"  he jabbed a finger at his throbbing temple, "why did you hit
it?"

"Scared."

An answer at last, but not much of one.  Malcolm wasn't sure who Trip
was  referring to being scared, but he was beginning to realise that
there was  something dreadfully wrong with the engineer.

"Who's scared?  You?  I know I am."

"You scared me."  Trip made a striking motion with his hand. "Sorry 
hurt...  Bring home.  Mate now."  The words seemed a major effort for
him,  and he seemed quite pleased when he finished speaking.

The question was: Did Trip consider him his mate now, or was he
demanding  that they mate, now?  Given his concussed state, Malcolm
sincerely hoped it  was not the latter.  He was afraid that his hopes
were about to be dashed  when Trip crawled up to him on the bed.

At this range, he could see that the engineer was still dressed only
in  his loose pyjama bottoms, and his pulse quickened in spite of
himself.  A  tentative had reached out to brush his temple, sliding
down to caress his  face.  Trip pressed closer, chest against
Malcolm's upraised knees.  Leaning  ever closer, he finally pressed
his lips to Malcolm's own.

Through it all, Malcolm shook like a leaf.

Suddenly, Trip pulled back.  He gave him a perplexed look, which
resolved  into an epiphany, and then sprang off the bed, scurrying
into the bathroom.

His mate was afraid.  Of him.  He could smell it on him and knew it
was  not natural for the man.

He needed a peace offering.  Something to show his mate that he meant
no  harm, that he would take care of him.

Food.  He would bring him food.  Something sweet, juicy.

He entered the water-room, searching the food cache.  There!  The
thick-skinned, intense orange fruit.  He could pull it apart for his
mate,  feed it to him.  It was perfect.  A good offering.

---

Archer wanted a shower, but he knew that he needed to head to the
bridge  and at least check in before he indulged.  When the turbolift
doors opened on  a bridge, empty save for Ensigns Mayweather and Sato,
and a few crewmen in  the Situation Room, he was confused to say the
least.

"Travis, Hoshi, where are Trip and Malcolm?"

"Thank goodness you're back, Captain," said Travis, obviously nervous.  
"Commander Tucker called in this morning, about two hours into Alpha
shift,  saying that he wasn't feeling well and was going to lie down. 
He put  Lieutenant Reed in charge.

"Malcolm went to lunch early so he'd be back before Hoshi and I went
to  eat and he hasn't been back since.  We haven't been able to raise
him on the  comm."

Archer frowned.  "What about Trip?  Did you call him when Malcolm went 
missing?"

"He didn't answer either, Sir."

"This doesn't sound good.  Hoshi, call T'Pol.  Tell her I need her up 
here to run internal scans for our missing men.  I'm going to stop by
Trip's  quarters to be on the safe side."

"Aye, Sir."

---

Trip wasn't answering his door.  Either he wasn't there, he was
ignoring  the chime, or he was incapable of answering.  A moment of
consideration, and  Archer decided he had better use his override to
go in and check to make sure  his friend wasn't in need of help.

The door whooshed open, and he stepped in, blinking to adjust his eyes
to  the dark.  Trip was crouched on his bed, Malcolm positioned behind
him  protectively, a half-eaten tangerine clutched in one hand. The
man's eyes  were wild, holding less of the intelligent engineer Archer
knew and more of a  cornered animal.

"Trip?" Archer said quietly.  "Trip, what's going on?  Malcolm, are
you  alright?"

"Yes, more or less.  I think I have a concussion," the Englishman
answered calmly.

"A concussion?"

"Our Mister Tucker struck me some time ago.  Apparently, I startled
him."

Archer frowned.  "He hasn't done anything else to hurt you?"

"No," a smile ghosted over Malcolm's features.  "You don't think he'd 
hurt his mate do you?"

Eyebrows rose up.  "Mate?  Is there something you'd like to tell me, 
Lieutenant?"

Trip had been looking back and forth from Archer to Malcolm while they 
conversed, and this new topic produced a reaction in him.  He reached
behind  himself to clutch at Malcolm possessively.  "My mate."

"He seems to have decided, after knocking me out, that I was rather 
pretty and to take me home.  He's been hand feeding me tangerine.  I
think  it's his way of apologising for the knock on the head."

Malcolm seemed amused by the situation, and Archer relaxed.  "Not
exactly  himself is he?"  He took a step toward his officers, which
made Trip anxious,  so he stepped back again.

"Perhaps you should sit down, Captain.  You might seem less of a
threat.   He doesn't seem to understand much speech, and I don't think
he really  recognises people.  He's ... running on instinct."

"Instincts like eat, fight or flight, and mate."

"Yes."

"We need to get him to Sickbay, you too, Malcolm."  Archer lowered
himself to the floor, fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands.
"Do  you think you could convince him to follow you there?"

"Possibly, though I rather doubt I'd make it.  Too shaky."

"I don't suppose he'd take kindly to me helping you, would he?"

"Likely not."  Malcolm grinned.  "I'd rather not have my captain and
best  friend fight over me, thank you very much."

Archer chuckled and then sat quietly, thinking.  He could call T'Pol
and  have her come down with a phase pistol to stun Tucker.  It wasn't
an  appealing option, but one he might have to take.

He watched, wondering what Malcolm was up to, while the Englishman
shifted so that his head was nestled in the crook of Trip's neck. Arms 
wrapped around Trip's bare chest, and muscular legs positioned on
either side  of the blonde, Malcolm started whispering in the man's
ear.

---

He was surprised.  His mate was holding him.  The little man had
seemed  so frightened before, though he had been calmer after the
food-gift, he had  not expected this yet.  He wondered if it had
something to do with the  intruder which sat on his floor.

His mate murmured words in his ear.  He could only understand a few.

"That one ... your friend.  He ... wants ... help you, help us. I'm 
hurt, ill from ... you hit me...  Carry me ... he leads.  Please,
Trip."

Trip.  That was him.  That was what his mate called him.  The intruder 
had as well.

He looked at his mate.  The beautiful man did not look good.  His skin 
was too pale and was slick with sweat.  One eye was blue and the other
oddly  black; that couldn't be normal.

He touched his mate's face and nodded to him.  His mate released him,
and  he slid off the bed.  He hoisted the man into his arms, wincing
as his mate  blanched at the motion.  Then, he turned to face the
intruder-friend,  waiting.

"Captain," said Reed from his perch in Trip's arms, "would you be so
kind  as to lead the way to Sickbay?  Trip will follow you."

"Sure, Malcolm."  Archer stood and lead the way from Trip's quarters.

Thankfully, Trip followed with very little hesitation, and they met
few  people along the way to Sickbay.  Once there, Archer had to shush
a startled  Phlox, allowing Malcolm to direct Trip to a bio bed to set
him on.  Malcolm  laid back on the bed, looking relived, while Trip
hovered at the head,  stroking his "mate's" hair.

Archer took the opportunity to whisper instructions in Phlox's ear. 
He  then set about distracting Trip, while the doctor snuck  up on him
with a hypospray full of sedatives.  With a choked cry of surprise, 
Trip crumpled to the floor, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's get him on a bed and strapped down.  After that, you can take
care  of Malcolm while I call the bridge and let them know that I
found our wayward  souls."

That done, Archer gave in to his tired body, if only a little bit,
slouching in an out of the way chair.  He wanted that shower he'd
promised  himself and a chance to lie down, but he knew that, until
they found out what  was wrong with Trip, there would be no rest for
this weary captain.

---

"What do you mean, it's an allergy?"

"Just that, Captain," said Phlox, cheerful as ever.  "Mister Tucker is 
allergic to the pollen he was exposed to when he was on the planet. 
It has  the rather unique side affect of inhibiting his higher brain
functions, but  otherwise it's harmless.  All we have to do is give
him an antihistamine  until it's worked its way out of his system --
another day, at most."

Now, Archer did bury his head in his hands.  "An allergy.  Trip turns 
into the proverbial cave man because of an allergy."  He gave in to a
small  snort of laughter.  "Including selecting a mate by going out
and knocking  somebody unconscious and dragging him back to his
'cave.'"

"Oh, I doubt it was simply a matter of 'knocking somebody
unconscious,'  as you put it, Captain.  I suspect that there is a
genuine physical  attraction underlying Mister Tucker's choice of
Mister Reed as his mate.   Fate simply intervened, sending Mister Reed
along at an opportune time to be  hit over the head and dragged off."

"Now, there's a lovely thought," Malcolm groused from his bio bed.
"Shuffled along by Dame Fortuna like a lamb to the slaughter.  It's
just a  good thing he had enough of his higher brain functions left to
show some  restraint."

Malcolm didn't go on, but the other two men seemed to understand.
Being  raped by one's best friend, alien pollen responsible or not,
could not be a  pleasant experience.

Archer patted Malcolm on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile.  
"It's been a long day; I'm going to turn in for the evening. You get
some  rest, Malcolm.  I'll be by in the morning to check on you and
Trip.  Good  night, Doctor."

---

Phlox left for his own quarters a couple of hours later, leaving
Malcolm  alone in Sickbay with the unconscious Trip.  He couldn't
sleep.  He was too  worried.  Malcolm didn't know what he would do if
Trip woke up, and the  antihistamines hadn't done their job.

He didn't know what to say to the engineer if they did.

*Oh Commander, since you drug me off to be your mate while you were 
somewhat incapacitated, I was wondering if you'd be interested in
having a  more normal romantic relationship.  Yea gods, what would I
do if he said no?   What would I do if he didn't?

No, no, I know what I'd do if he accepted.  Drag him off to my own
little  cave, that's what I'd do.  And promptly turn into a worry wart
after our  first night together.  What would the captain say about us?
And the rest of  the crew?  You can't keep something like that a
secret on a ship this size.   Of course, after today, there are
probably twelve different rumours  circulating about us.

The real question is how long it would take before he got tired of me.  
There's no place to hide from an ex-lover out here.  Wouldn't the
captain  just love to watch his Armoury Officer crumble into little
pieces because he  got dumped by the man he loves and has to work with
every day.*

A low moan from the adjacent bio bed distracted Malcolm from his
frantic  thoughts.  Trip was waking, and he suddenly felt trapped.

---

Trip's head hurt.  Not so much as it had earlier that day, but the
dull  throb was still painful.  Though one slit eyelid, he registered
that his was  in Sickbay, Malcolm watching him from the next bed, and
wondered how he had  got there.

He didn't wonder for very long.  Images began to filter through his
mind  of him carrying Malcolm in and being sedated.  Memory of
striking Malcolm  down and then taking him back to his quarters
followed.  The sensation of  desire coiling in his gut accompanied the
memory.  That, and his uneasiness  at seeing fear on his friend's
face.  Fear of him.

"Malcolm?"

"Yes, Trip?"

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Sorry 'bout before.  I don't know why I did all that."

"The doctor said it was part of an allergic reaction to pollen.
Inhibited your higher brain functions, forced you to run on instinct.
He  claims it'll be out of your system in a day."  Malcolm seemed to
gather  himself together and continued.  "Some interesting instincts
you had.  Can't  say I ever thought you'd choose me for your mate. The
tangerine feeding was  sweet, though."

Trip grinned.  "You liked that, huh?"  He grinned a little wider as 
Malcolm blushed.

"Yes,  as I said, it was sweet.  I'm not used to sweet gestures. It
was  a pleasant change."  Malcolm gave him what could only be called a
wicked  grin.  "Especially since you initiated the relationship with a
blow to my  head."

He ducked his head, flushing in shame at the memory of striking
Malcolm.   Trip still felt the need to apologise for injuring his
friend and the terror  the smaller man had obviously felt in thinking
he was going to be molested.

An idea occurred to Trip, and he scrambled up out of his bio bed.

"Where are you going, Trip?"

"T' the mess hall."

"The mess hall?"

"Yup."  He moved over to the side of Malcolm's bed.  "I'm gonna see if
I  c'n find a tangerine."  Trip placed a quick kiss on the
Englishman's  forehead.

As he scurried off, desperately hoping not to get caught, he heard
Malcolm mutter,  "Hopeless romantic."

--- Epilogue


There was a tangerine on his desk.  A bow of white satin ribbon was
stuck  on top of it, presumably by means of toothpick.  Malcolm picked
up the card  lying next to it, chuckling over the silly object.


*Malcolm my love,

Happy first anniversary of my choosing you as my mate - and you not 
murdering me for it.  Next to where you found this note is a small
token of  my love and something to snack on.

Forever your own sweet blonde boy, Trip*


Malcolm smiled, setting down the card to pick up the fruit, a private 
symbol of their love.  The smile turned into an expression of shock
when he  saw the narrow gold band tied into the bow.  It looked like a
wedding band.

He could hardly believe that the ring was meant as a proposal, and
yet…   Trip was just about crazy enough to want to spend the rest of
his life with  someone as difficult as him.

Releasing the ring from its bow, Malcolm slipped it onto his right
ring  finger.  It was a perfect fit.  He turned back to the door,
heading out to  find his lover and let the man know he'd accepted his
gift - whatever the  greater implications.

---

The End