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

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Archive: sure!

Spoilers: The Communicator (mild)

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.....

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"You cut your hair."

Malcolm blinked once. "Yes, I did," he finally said.

"You really went and cut your hair," Trip repeated, giving the new
haircut a critical once-over.

Malcolm had decided to reduce the longer strands to an easy-to-handle,
shorter version.  It had happened before their fateful mission where
he had misplaced or lost the communicator. He still wasn't quite sure
how the device had disappeared. His guess had been a pick-pocket.

Oh well. They had survived. Barely. But they were alive. Malcolm still
had some undefined bad dreams about hanging and prisons, but they were
fading.

"Yes, I did. Yesterday, to be precise."

Trip shook his head. "You actually cut your hair!"

One hand reached out and touched the shorter strands, running gentle
fingers through the thick hair.

"Trip. . . "

"Short."

"Trip! It was a simple haircut!"

It wasn't as if he had taken a razor to them. And Tucker had seen him
several times with his new cut before the mission.

"It's kinda. . .  well. . .  gotta get used to it."

"You had me around before I left for the mission, Trip. You didn't say
anything. And you had me with you afterwards," Malcolm reminded him.

"Well. . .  it's different now. In this light." Trip made a vague 
gesture.

Reed rolled his eyes. "The cabin light is always the same."

"Not when we dim it for some hot one-on-one," came the low reply.

He shivered. Oh yes. One-on-one. That was what had happened last
night.

"It'll grow out again."

There was a mournful expression in the blue eyes -- which was quickly
replaced with something Malcolm didn't like.

"Trip?"

"Just hold on a sec, Mal."

He rolled his eyes. He was due on the bridge soon and he still hadn't
dressed completely. They had slept in Malcolm's quarters last night
and while it was very, very nice to wake up in the arms of his lover,
coordinating two men in one bathroom and one normal-sized quarter was
always quite a logistic feat. They had developed a routine, which had
now suddenly been interrupted by Trip's off-hand comment.

Tucker had seen and touched him last night with the short hair as
well, for heaven's sake! Well, Malcolm had to concede, they had been
busy with something far different than his hair. Trip had reassured
himself of Malcolm's continued, living, breathing existence, and Reed
had beaten the very fact into his lover's head. Yes, there was still
the bruised lip, but he was fine. Shaken, rattled, but fine. Nothing
some nice, tender loving, cuddling and snuggling, as well as nights
spent together couldn't heal.

So what was it with the hair obsession?

Tucker disappeared into the bathroom and grabbed something from the
cabinet. Malcolm saw that it was a tube of. . .  gel? Frowning, he
watched his lover squeeze a generous amount of the gel onto his hand.

"Trip?" he asked, confused.

Tucker started to advance on him, hands full of gel. His expression
was downright devious.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Malcolm protested, backing away. "Trip? What. .
. .? Oh no, you don't!"

His back hit the wall and while the security officer was ready to
defend himself, the man who loved Trip Tucker wasn't prepared to use
physical force. He couldn't hurt the blond any more than he could be
without him. So when Trip's glistening hands descended onto him, he
only yelled in protest, but it was too late.

"Tucker!" he exclaimed as quick hands moved through his short strands.

Trip stepped back, a satisfied expression in his eyes. "That's
better," he stated.

Malcolm hurried over to the mirror, staring at the mess that now was
his hair. "What in bloody hell. . . ?"

"Much better," the engineer went on. "Very stylish. Very. . . "

"Horrendous!"

"I was about to say 'very you', Mal." Trip stepped up behind him,
catching the hands trying to finger-comb through the spiky hair.
"Looks great."

"Trip, I have to be on duty in five minutes!" Reed protested. "I can't
go looking like that!"

"I couldn't let you go lookin' like you did before either," came the
teasing reply.

"Charles Tucker!"

"Youch!" Trip winced. "There you go using that name. . . "

"I can use a lot of other names, too!"

"Do some of them include 'love', 'sexy' or 'you wonderful man, you'?"

"No!"

Malcolm glared at him some more, then straightened his uniform and
stalked over to the door. His eyes promised retribution. Trip just
smiled innocently.

"Looks real good, Mal," he repeated.

"Stupid is more like it!"

And with that the door swished closed after him. He didn't care if his
lover was left alone in his quarters.

All this because he had decided to cut his hair, for crying out loud!
It had been about bloody time anyway. An officer couldn't go around
looking like a hippie. He knew Trip liked to run his hands through his
hair, but Malcolm had to handle it every morning. The shorter version
was much more. . .  economical.

Stepping onto the bridge, he tried to blend in with the background as
he made his way to his station. Lieutenant Brahme, who had manned the
Beta shift, looked up – and stopped.

Malcolm's expression darkened and the younger man wisely kept his
mouth shut.

"Lieutenant," he only said and rose from his post.

Malcolm nodded and took his place, only to become aware of someone
else looking at him. Well, several pairs of eyes, actually. Travis
just grinned briefly, Hoshi smiled and nodded, and Archer's eyebrows
rose several notches.

"Lieutenant?" he questioned.

"Sir?" Reed only returned it.

Archer's lips twitched.

When the lift opened again, this time spilling out Trip Tucker, the
corners rose even more. Especially after seeing Tucker's satisfied
smirk.

"Commander."

"Cap'n."

Looks were exchanged and Malcolm glowered at his lover and his lover's
best friend.  He pointedly forced himself to concentrate on his
station, ignoring Trip's presence behind him as the engineer checked
something or other.


The end of the shift couldn't have come any sooner. Alpha shift had
been quite uneventful and except for a minor asteroid field, there had
been nothing of interest.  Archer had decided to head for an
uninhabited system with some interesting, solar phenomena, and they
wouldn't reach it until tomorrow. Trip had disappeared in the engine
room somewhere throughout the second half of the shift, leaving his
'styled' lover alone.

Turning his station over to his relief, Malcolm made his way to the
turbo lift. He badly needed to get his hand on a brush and remove the
stiff, spiky looks. Hair gel! Leave it to Trip to embarrass him in
front of everyone – and call it 'style'.

"Lieutenant?"

At Archer's soft call, Malcolm stopped, turning to meet his captain's
gaze head on. "Sir?"

"Nice hair," was the amused comment and Reed didn't like the glitter
in those green eyes.

"Sir."

"Very. . .  different."

"Sir," was all he said once again.

Archer grinned.

Malcolm just nodded stiffly and walked into the lift, almost sagging
in relief when the doors closed.

Damn that Yankee all the way to Hades! Trip better have a good apology
ready! Groveling wouldn't work at all!

Then again, Tucker never groveled and his apologies. . .  Malcolm knew
he'd be lucky to get a half-serious 'Ah'm sorry' drawled at him.

Passing by the crewman in the corridors, Reed was hard pressed not
glare at each and every one giving him strange looks. Some of the
women smiled appreciatively, even one of two of the mal crew, but at
least no one commented outright. He was sure by the end of the day,
everyone would know.

His own shift on the bridge might be over, but he still had work to
do, so he walked into the armory. Malcolm heard his stomach protest at
the notion of more work. He hadn't had lunch yet, but the prospect of
spending time in the crowded mess, everyone staring at his hair, was
less than appealing. And he didn't have the time to spare to go by his
quarters and brush out the gel. Or even think about washing his hair.

Entering the Armory, he was greeted by two of his team, both giving
him a brief once over. Ensign D'Argenziano smiled outright.

"Nice hair, Lieutenant," she commented.

"Ensign," was all he replied, not sure what to say.

"Quite a change."

"Yes. Indeed. It is."

And I'll skin that Yank alive! He'll regret ever laying hand on me.
Well, not on me. My hair. Mostly my hair. He can put his hands
everywhere else.

Malcolm derailed that close-to-runaway thought and turned to the
station. Checking on the logs of the past shift, he immersed himself
in maintenance protocols and updates.

It was safe.

It was routine.

It kept him from thinking about his hair.

And it kept him from the mess hall.

By the time his stomach viciously reminded him that food was next on
the list or it would give him a piece of its mind, Malcolm had spent
four hours in his little kingdom of weaponry and armament.

Okay. Food. No sweat. He could do this. Just stroll into the mess, get
a plate, sit down – ignore everyone.

Good plan.

Really good plan.

It just lacked some finesse in its execution.

While the mess hall was not very crowded, it had some curious
spectators hanging around. Most just gave him a cursory glance,
followed by a more pronounced stare, but two others didn't.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" Travis called and smiled cheerfully.

Mayweather sat next to Hoshi, both of them having plates of pie or
cake in front of them. It was past normal lunch hour, which didn't
stop Chef from having warm meals available for those with the odd
shifts. Or cases like Malcolm Reed, who simply forgot when lunch hours
were supposed to be.

Malcolm sighed and resigned himself to his fate. He took his pasta and
salad and sat down with the two senior staff ensigns.

"You are the main topic on all decks," Travis told the older man,
grinning.

"Oh wonderful."

"Don't listen to him, Lieutenant," Hoshi added, smiling. "It's a great
look and something new. They'll get used to it in no time."

"I'm not getting used to it," Malcolm grumbled. "And this is the first
and last time my hair looks like this!"

Travis gave him a critical look. "It's not bad at all, Malcolm. I'd
keep it."

Reed shot him a dark look, then pointedly regarded the very short
hairstyle of the other man. Mayweather chuckled and took a sip from
his mug.

"Let me guess, it was Trip's idea?" Hoshi ventured forth.

"I was attacked in my quarters just before my shift," Malcolm
grumbled. "With a tube of gel."

Travis made a little choking sound and quickly lowered his mug,
coughing.

"Oh, gimme details!" Hoshi sang, grinning like mad.

Another dark look was shot at the two ensigns. "Hair gel. We're
talking about hair gel. Get your minds out of the gutter!"

"I like the gutter. Very comfy."

Malcolm ignored the communications expert and instead attacked his
salad.

"Seriously, Malcolm, you look good. Nothing too experimental, or
extravagant," Hoshi finally said with conviction. "Trip gets extra
points for creativity."

The lieutenant raised his eyebrows and received an innocent smile in
return.

By the time he was done with his late lunch, which now could also
count as an early dinner, Liz Cutler had joined the three officers,
shooting appreciative looks at Malcolm. He steadfastedly ignored it.
Like he ignored the increasing amount of people coming off their
shifts and looking for a snack or dinner.


Finally entering his quarters, Malcolm stripped off his uniform and
was just about to walk into the bathroom to hunt for the hairbrush,
when the door to his quarters slid open. Only one person had the
private access code and that person now stood in the room, smiling.

"Hey, hon!" Trip called cheerfully.

Malcolm growled. On top of messing up his hair, Tucker also had the
nerve to call him 'hon'? The man really was suicidal today! But
killing him now would be letting this man off too easy! He would bide
his time, watch and wait. Then attack. Tucker would never know what
hit him!

 "Oh, wow, handsome!" the blond added, grinning widely, giving his
lover a sensuous once-over.

Malcolm just glowered, ignoring the sparks in the blue depth, and
walked to the bathroom to get the hairbrush. A pair of strong hands
and arms stopped him, pulling him flush against the still fully
clothed chief engineer.

"You look real sexy in just your underwear an' that cool hair style."
His mouth was close to Malcolm's ear, his words sending puffs of warm
air across his neck.

"It's not cool, it's a mess!" Malcolm contradicted, but he didn't make
an attempt to get out of the embrace.

"I like it."

"I don't!"

"Well, I don't like that crew cut."

"It's not a crew cut! It's not even close to one."

Trip nuzzled one temple. "'Tis to me."

"Any longer and it would be hanging past my collar!"

Tucker laughed. "It wasn't even close to it. It was just the right
length."

Malcolm sighed and shook his head. He turned in the loving embrace and
looked into the cheerful, blue eyes.

"I'm not making a habit out of this look," he announced.

"Not askin' you. Was just nice t'see you like that."

"First and last time," the armory officer vowed.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

"I see."

Trip lightly pressed his lips to Malcolm's, tongue teasing along them.
Reed reacted automatically, opening up, inviting Trip inside. Tucker
gently plunged in, exploring the moist warmth at leisure. A satisfied
sound came from the dark-haired man and Trip grew bolder, deepening
the kiss, hands starting to explore the mostly undressed body. Tongues
parried and thrust, then gentled and tasted and suckled one another.

Somehow his black shirt went flying, then the undershirt. Malcolm
found himself pressed against the wall, a hungry engineer devouring
him. He reciprocated, lowering the zipper and peeling the annoying
uniform off the taller man. They ended up on the gray couch, both
uncaring of anything else happening around them. Hand sought out
familiar, erogenous zones and Malcolm gave a gasp of surprise and
pleasure as Trip unerringly dove for his prize. Teeth tugged at his
ear lobe and there was a rising need building inside him.

"Trip. . . " he breathed. "Please. . . "

"Am I forgiven?" came the husky question.

Malcolm met the heated, blue gaze. "Not yet," he murmured roughly.

"Oh?"

Hands stimulated his aching arousal even more and he arched off into
the hot touch.

"No," he managed.

Trip kissed a blazing trail down his chest and suddenly a moist warmth
enveloped his hardness. Malcolm gasped, clawing at the couch.

"Yes!" he hissed.

Trip looked up, meeting the gray eyes, smiling devilishly. "And now?"

"Getting there."

"Ah, you're not easy to satisfy."

Small licks were applied and Malcolm moaned unconsciously. "You should
know me by now," the dark-haired man whispered.

Another lick, all the way from root to tip. "Oh yeah. I do. I know how
to make you feel good. Real good."

With that Trip reached for the tube with gel again, but this time the
lube, not the hair product. Malcolm's eyes clouded with desire and he
rolled onto his side, cushioning himself on the couch. Preparation was
done as lovingly as the prior one. By the time Trip slowly slid
inside, he was ready to forgive his lover all sins ever committed.

Climax came in a rush, leaving him limp and gasping, Trip sliding out
with a low groan. Both men lay together on the soiled couch, avoiding
the stained areas, kissing each other lovingly, hands soothing heated
skin.

"Forgiven?" Trip asked.

"Forgiven," Malcolm replied softly, nipping at his lover's lower lip.
"For now."

That got him a grin. "Love ya, too."

Malcolm chuckled. "If you really do, you get up, ready the bed and
clean the couch."

"I love ya enough t'do the bed part, but you can clean up your own
mess, Mal."

"How very. . .  romantic."

"That's me."

Malcolm smacked him lightly on the arm as Trip got up and walked into
the bathroom. He cleaned himself up and brought a washcloth along as
he exited. He threw the damp cloth at his lover, then grinned and went
to the bed, pulling back the covers. Malcolm sighed and washed away
the stains, then threw the cloth to the floor. He wasn't in any shape
to be neat right now; didn't care either. Crawling in with Trip was
all he wanted.

And that was what he did.

Cuddling close to his naked lover, he sighed with pleasure as a hand
stroked his still rather spiky hair.

He'd brush it out tomorrow.

And fight off a certain engineer if he even came close to him with a
tube of hair gel.

"So, you gonna let it grow again?" a soft, almost petulant voice could
be heard.

Malcolm chuckled. "Yes, Trip. I will let my hair grow again. You know,
it is a natural phenomenon. . . . Growing hair."

"Idiot."

"But you love me anyway."

"Short hair, no hair. . .  yep, no way around it."

"No hair?" Reed echoed.

"Well, when we're old'n gray, y'know."

"I'll have you know that my family doesn't tend toward baldness."

"Really?"

"Yes. You'll be balding all on your lonesome."

"You saw my Dad already, Mal. No hair missin'."

"If you say so."

"Damn right, I do."

Hands caressed his skin and Malcolm leaned into the touch. He felt
wonderfully warm and relaxed, almost becoming one with the mattress.
One of those hands brushed over his short strands.

"Night," came a soft murmur.

"Good night, Trip."

The fingers tangled in the messy hair and a gentle kiss was bestowed
on his lips.

---

The end