The BLTS Archive - Kumite
by Macx (macx@nexgo.de)

---

Archive: sure!

Spoilers: Dawn

Feedback: empty inbox seeks emails!

Disclaimer: Don't own a single one of 'em. All Paramount's.

Author's Voice of Warning (aka Author's Note): English is not my first
language; it's German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you
find in here, collect them and you might win a prize <g>

The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy
those thingies are.....

--

"Oooof!"

Trip experienced a brief moment of breathlessness, gasping for air,
feeling the mattress under his back, the weight on his hips, and he
looked up into the clear, gray eyes of Malcolm Reed, who sat astride
his body. A fine sheen of sweat covered the lieutenant's lightly
flushed face and the expression in those wonderful eyes was... hot.

No, hot was the wrong word for it.

Powerful. Energetic. Hungry.

Well, not truly hungry, either, Trip decided. It was arousal. An
arousal he had seen before. The rush of adrenaline, the sheer joy of
their encounter, the graceful moves of the trained body...

And satisfaction.

Hands were curled around his wrists, keeping them firmly next to his
head, and the slender body above him, dressed in sweatpants and a
shirt, was heavier than anyone would have guessed from the lightly
built physique.

Trip tried to move, dislodge the hard grip, but it only resulted in
two strong thighs putting pressure on his hips and lower ribcage.

"I know you can do better, Commander," Malcolm said softly.

"Really?" he panted, trying again.

Shit. He was caught tight here.

Real tight.

Wonderfully tight.

Shit.

"You're flexible and agile. I know you are. You can move very well."

Trip felt himself blush and fought it. Malcolm grinned that wide-open
grin of his, the one that sometimes broke free from behind the oh-so
controlled Lieutenant Facade.

"Lemme up, Malcolm."

"You want to have another go?"

"Yeah. Third time's the charm."

Malcolm lithely and gracefully moved off him, stepping back. Trip
scrambled to his feet and shook out his arms, ducking in a fighting
stance. Anyone who doubted the self-defense capabilities of one
Malcolm Reed only had to take part in his freely offered classes to be
proven wrong. Malcolm knew his stuff and he could move fast.

Trip attacked again, managing to get in two blows before he found
himself on the matt again, Malcolm leaning over the engineer, smiling.

"You left your right side open," he told the downed man. "Again.
Concentrate."

Trip sighed. He had. He did. Really. Concentrating was no problem.
Even if there was the enticing vision of Malcolm, in his civvies,
covered in a fine sheen of sweat, dancing around in front of him. A
very real vision that had managed to send him sprawling the matt again
and again.

"You can top that performance, Trip," Malcolm added, voice low and
very close to being husky.

Something inside of him twitched in response and he cursed the
dark-haired lieutenant as Malcolm got up as if this last remark had
not been a hundred percent ambiguous.

So he tried again. He got further this time, managing to swipe
Malcolm's legs out from under him, but as he advanced on his
'opponent', Malcolm's legs scissored toward him and he landed on his
butt, and was soon in the same situation as before.

Malcolm was breathing harder now, too. His dark hair was streaked with
sweat and in wonderful disarray, and the clinging shirt did nothing to
stop Trip's vivid imagination from having a head-on collision with his
libido. Both men gazed at each other, Malcolm sitting dominantly on
his commanding officer, his weight keeping him firmly down. The sweats
couldn't hide the growing evidence of the effect the training session
had on either of the two.

"I think we should postpone further... training till a later date,"
Malcolm whispered, gray eyes never leaving Trip's face.

"Yeah, I totally agree."

They gazed at each other, silent.

"Malcolm?"

"Hm?"

"Lemme up?"

"Why?"

"Oh well, nothin' special. Just the Cap'n standing in the doorway'n
watchin' us," Trip answered conversationally.

Malcolm looked over his shoulder without shifting his weight or
loosening his hold. Archer was really there, and he was smiling.
Dressed in his workout clothes, a towel in his hands, he raised an
eyebrow.

"Don't let me interrupt, Malcolm."

"You aren't," came the calm reply.

There was no sign of embarrassment or shame in Malcolm's eyes, and his
posture was relaxed.

"Mal?" Trip tried to gain his attention again.

"Yes?" Gray eyes turned back to look at him.

"So.... you wanna let me up?"

"I guess."

His wrists were freed and Trip rested his hands on the muscular
thighs. He was quite aware of their one-man-audience. So far, nothing
explicitly sexual had happened.

"Wanna relocate?" he asked softly.

"An excellent idea, commander."

Trip licked his lips as the other man slid off his legs, crouching for
a second and then standing fluidly. He got to his own two feet, their
gazes locking.

"After you, Commander," Malcolm said, voice soft, low, enticing... and
promising.

And he went.

---

His move was hard and unrelenting, feeling the handsome body
underneath him arch in response, as if trying to throw him off. But he
had no intention to let that happen. His hips jerked, delicious
friction evoking a sharp gasp from him and a cry from his partner.
Malcolm's moves became more demanding and Trip leaned forward, teeth
latching onto sensitive skin, biting gently.

"Trip..." came the breathy moan. " Yeah?"

"Gawd, move, please!"

Another twitch of his hips and Reed arched again, seeking more depth,
more pleasure.

"I know you can do better, Malcolm," he echoed Reed's words from
earlier.

Malcolm gasped, unable to move much in his pinned down position, his
control of the situation close to nil.

Trip did all the moving and currently, he enjoyed the delicious heat,
the way Malcolm squirmed, the way he wanted more. Just like Trip
wanted more, and control would soon be a matter of the past.

Shifting a little, which caused him to bite his lower lip, and Malcolm
to inhale sharply, he leaned down and whispered, "Spread 'em."

And Malcolm did. Trip kissed the priorily bitten area, then began to
move for real.

Deep and hard and demanding.

Until there was nothing left but bliss and liquid fire rushing through
him in climax.

"I knew you could top that," Malcolm murmured, voice filled with lazy
satisfaction as he drew patterns on Trip's flushed skin.

"Humh," was Tucker's only answer, coherency having fled along with
intelligence, reason and coordination. He simply lay there,
wonderfully limp and almost liquid, molded against his lover, enjoying
the wandering hands.

He knew it had been a good idea to ask Malcolm to train with him. A
very good idea.

Damn, sometimes he had only good ideas and the best had been this one.

Oh, yeah, he thought as Malcolm brushed his palm over the tangle of
hair on his chest. Wonderful.

---

Trip palpated the swollen cheek and eye carefully, sighing to himself.

Damn.

He looked like a bloody punching ball.

Had he just thought 'bloody'?

Damn.

Now he was starting to think in Malcolm Swear Words. Well, British
swear words, that is. Anyway... he had been hanging around Reed too
often. He had started to adopt certain terms.

Then again, hanging around Malcolm wasn't really a problem. He liked
it. He loved Malcolm. It was easy to be with him.

Okay, he could live with a 'bloody' interrupting the more American
swearing once in a while.

Trip grinned, then winced as his face protested.

Zho'Kaan really hadn't pulled his punches and Trip couldn't even be
angry with him. They both had been unable to understand the other, had
been crash landed together, and their first meeting had been rather...
lacking in diplomacy.

He shot me down, the engineer thought. So much for diplomacy.

But they had survived. Barely, with about ten minutes to spare, but
they were alive to tell the tale.

"Stop prodding at it," Malcolm interrupted his thoughts, batting the
probing hands away. "It won't get better."

Trip sighed again. Nope, it wouldn't. Phlox had told him it might take
a while to recede. He had given him some painkillers and smeared
whatever-it-was onto his sunburned skin, giving him a great relief
from the itching and hot sensation. None of his ribs were broken, not
even badly bruised, but the colorful marks on his right side still
hurt. Not enough to keep him from snuggling with Malcolm, though.

"Mal?" he murmured after a while of just that snuggling with his
lover.

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

Reed gave him a confused look. "What for?"

"Showin' me those moves. They really did the trick down on that
hellhole of a moon."

Malcolm smiled. "They did, hm?"

"Yeah. I'd be a jar of Tucker pulp if not for your trainin'."

"Uh-huh. Nice to know you actually learned something – and remembered
it."

"You think I'm only starin' at your butt?"

"Actually, yes."

Trip chuckled. "Well, it's true 90% of the cases," he confessed with a
teasing voice.

"I'd rather go for 98%, Commander Tucker."

"I'm not that bad."

"Worse."

"But those 2% got me through."

"3% might have stopped the alien from turning your face into..."
Malcolm gestured vaguely, "... that."

"Well, thank you," Trip muttered. "It could be worse."

"It can only be worse. And you could be dead."

"Nope. He wasn't out for killin' me. He wanted a prisoner'n engineer
slave."

Malcolm wrapped an arm lightly around Trip's waist, careful not to
hurt him. "He can't have you."

"Possessive, aren't we?"

"I don't know about you, but I am," came the soft but serious
declaration.

Trip caught the angular face between his hands and pulled Malcolm down
into a soft, loving kiss. Nipping at each other's mouths, the two men
lost themselves in the tender touch of lips against lips, their
tongues touching almost shyly, exploring and teasing. Trip moaned as
Malcolm suckled at an erotic spot at his neck, hands weaving into the
dark hair.

"Okay, convinced," he managed.

Ah shit, Mal! shot through his head as Reed nuzzled him again.

Malcolm chuckled and settled down again, no intention of getting his
injured partner all up for nothing. Trip was really in no condition
for anything more than a little fooling around. The muscles twinged at
the worst times and the oddest moments.

"I'm not losing you to some alien hotshot pilot who wants to keep you
as his pleasure slave."

"I don't think he wanted me for that."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Well, he would have been very pleased if
you had repaired his ship."

"Probably ecstatic," Trip chuckled.

"See?"

"So you'd go out'n fight for me? For my honor?"

Malcolm planted a kiss on his lips. "Of course. I'm the chief of
security. You're important. To this ship. To the captain...."

Tucker pouted.

"To me," Reed whispered, kissing him again, softly, tenderly. "So very
important."

Trip sighed contentedly, smiling warmly, as he relaxed into the
softness of the mattress, Malcolm at his side, and his gaze drifted to
the view port that showed him fields of stars streaking by. It looked
like they were going about Warp 2.5. Archer had mentioned something
about a star system three days or so away he wanted to visit. Trip
would be back on duty by then; Phlox had told him to stay off for at
least twenty-four hours, checking back into sickbay afterwards or when
he experienced nausea or dizziness or generally felt unwell.

Currently, he felt very, very good.

"Love ya," he murmured.

Malcolm's noise of pleasure touched him deeply. He lived for these
moments, the little, stolen ones, the time they had to themselves.
Away from the bridge, the engine room, the armory. Away from the
captain, their science officer, the senior crew. Away from duty and
regulations and the mission. He enjoyed them each time and he
treasured them.

"You up for dinner later?" Malcolm asked.

"Sure. Whatcha cookin'?"

"Me?"

"Well, you offered."

"I offered to escort an invalid into the mess hall."

"Invalid," Trip huffed. "I'm perfectly fine."

Malcolm gazed pointedly at the bruised side of his face, then gently
poked at one bruised muscle on his ribs. Trip ouched.

"Okay, okay, so I'm a bit battered."

"Try 'a lot' and we're making an approximation."

"So you're not cookin'?"

"No."

"Oh well, I can live with that."

"You have to."

"The offer for dinner company still stands?"

Malcolm smiled. "It does."

"Great. Time?"

"Anytime you feel hungry."

"Ravenous."

"Figures." Malcolm tried to get up, but Trip caught him and pulled him
back down. "Not enough to abandon a round of Malcolm cuddlin'."

"I can live with that," was the easy reply and Trip found himself with
an armful of Malcolm again.

Yes, so could he.

---

The End