The BLTS Archive - Praetor
Thirdd in the Too Stubborn To Die series
by Hel Bee (hlb15124@yahoo.com)

---

Set several months after 'These are the Voyages... '

Beta: Rakina and Charlene

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek – any of it!

AN: Third in the 'Too Stubborn To Die' series.

---

Molec was glad that the week was over. His enforced best rest may have
been good for his body, but its effect on his sanity could only be
described as negative. It was of course his own fault entirely; his
desire to catch the Praetor's eye had backfired. He had indeed gained
Praetor Tayha's attention; unfortunately it had meant he had been
assigned to entertain a rather vicious Corvallen envoy. The resulting
injuries had meant a week off duty; the doctor had taken one look at
him before assigning bed rest. His mood had swung from one extreme to
the other: from righteous indignation to maudlin, to resignation. He'd
brooded and sulked, and then in a pique of anger born of frustration
he'd smashed anything in reach that could be broken.

His original plan had not involved spending a week inactive; it chafed
at his sensibilities. Malcolm would have understood, sympathised that
he wanted to continue with his duties, working closer to his goal of
getting home.

Malcolm. He really shouldn't be thinking about him. He was Molec, not
Trip. Molec was not married to Malcolm. Molec was a plaything of the
Romulan Senate and he would be wise to remember it. But it was too
late to hold back his memories...

---

There had been no time for regrets or feeling uncomfortable after
their first time together. The tactical alert had sent them running –
Malcolm and Jon to the bridge and Trip to engineering with only Jon in
uniform. The next twelve hours had seen Enterprise boarded, reclaimed
and scorched, but normality had been returned. Trip found himself
staring out of the mess hall's window, coffee in hand, exhausted.
Sleep was still a long way off since the engine had taken damage and
there was no chance in hell that he could sleep with the uneven
vibrations it was making.

"Trip?"

The voice was unmistakable. Trip knew it was Malcolm before he'd
turned around. "Hey, you still up?"

"Evidently," came the wry reply. "Are you all right?"

Trip yawned, using his free hand to cover his mouth. "Yeah, just
getting in a quick break before I go back to engineering."

Malcolm joined him at the window. "About last night... "

Suddenly the coffee tasted acrid, and he knew he had to say something
to stop from actually hearing the words of rejection. Trip turned to
face the lieutenant. "It's all right, Malcolm. I understand. I don't
want to cause trouble between you and Jon... "

"No!"

Trip stared at Malcolm who was shaking his head, reaching out towards
him. "What?"

"I – we – look, Trip. Both Jon and I want you...  and I speak for both
of us when I say one night is simply not enough."

Trip knew he was gaping. He could feel his mouth was hanging open.
Malcolm smiled and reached over to him, and applying gentle pressure
to his chin he closed his mouth and chuckled. "You'll catch flies."

"I don't understand what's going on," Trip said truthfully, barely
able to believe what Malcolm was offering.

Malcolm slid his hand to cup Trip's cheek. "It's very simple: we need
you."

"But... "

"Listen, you make me and Jon work. What all of us have together feels
right." Malcolm took a seat at the nearest table and Trip followed. He
sat opposite the Brit and waited for him to continue. "You may have
noticed that neither Jon nor I like to give up control...  we both
like to lead," he said pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

Trip's eyes widened in comprehension. "You mean you've never... "

"That's right. Mouths and hands, nothing more. Well, until last
night... "

Trip scowled. "So that's why you want me – because I'll let you fuck
me? That I'll be your toy!"

Malcolm quickly grabbed his hands across the table. "No! Don't ever
think that! God, Trip...  you're the reason me and Jon even got this
far."

Trip snatched his hands away. "Don't play with me," he sneered.

"Please listen, I know I'm making a complete pig's ear of this, but
you've got to realise that you belong with us. The captain and I had
been in a bar during shore leave, neither of us really wanting each
other's company but neither wanting to be on their own. Several
glasses of local spirit later and we confessed our... " he hesitated
as if trying to find the words, "... our affection for you. We spent
the evening extolling your virtues and attributes. One drunken
conversation led to another and the next thing we knew we were waking
up in the same bed."

Trip fiddled with his coffee mug, a whirl of confusion, anger and hope
racing around his mind. "That doesn't mean you need me."

"I love Jon, he loves me. But we both love you." He stated it simply,
nothing hidden in the tone or the words he used.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but that makes no sense to me," said Trip, more
calmly than he felt.

Malcolm looked confused. "I don't understand."

"I know Jon; I mean really know him – have done for years. He doesn't
fall in love easily, and certainly not after a quick fuck. He also
knows the difference between love and infatuation, which quite
frankly, is the best you two could feel for me."

Trip wondered briefly if he and pushed Malcolm too far as he saw the
muscle in the security officer's left cheek twitch. "I assure you,
that my relationship with Jon is not a 'quick fuck'."

"Really?" drawled Trip. "You sit there telling me you ended up
together thanks to a mutual appreciation of me, and expect me to
believe you're in the middle some great love affair."

"We discovered we had other things in common," Malcolm said dryly.
"Neither of us expected our feelings to escalate quite so quickly – I
am just as surprised as you!"

Trip sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stared
pointedly at the lieutenant. He could see no reason for his friend to
lie to him, and he seemed pretty adamant about his feelings. So maybe
Malcolm and Jon were in love, but even if he accepted that, it didn't
mean they actually needed him. "It still makes so sense that you'd be
in love with me...  that you need me."

Malcolm sighed heavily and Trip thought he was about to get up and
walk away, but instead he leant forward. "I know you don't believe me,
but we do. Oh god, Trip, last night was prefect, it made us realise
that it wasn't – as you said – infatuation."

"I... "

"At least think about it, please," said Malcolm earnestly.

Trip looked into Malcolm's face. This was the closest he'd ever heard
the lieutenant get to begging. "I'll need some time to think."

Malcolm smiled. "Take as long as you need, but I can't promise Jon
will be so patient – you know what he's like."

---

Molec blinked away the memory. Sometimes it was good to remember, not
often, he conceded, but sometimes. He was sure now, more than ever,
that he had done the right thing by accepting this mission and
therefore protecting his husband. There was no way Malcolm could give
up control, no way he would have submitted so easily to the Senate
members. Yes, he had been right.

---

Molec exchanged a nervous glance with one of the other concubines. She
arched an eyebrow and looked away. The noise from the main chamber was
escalating quickly, wild voices shouting insults, strange crashes
which sounded like pottery and furniture being broken. Then almost as
soon as the noise levels had risen, silence descended. He supposed he
should no longer be surprised at the Romulans' outburst. When he had
first arrived here he had foolishly expected the Romulans to act in
some way like their distant cousins, the Vulcans. But these people
were far more passionate, their emotion as likely to lead them as much
as any human's.

The doors to the chamber crashed open and the Senate members streamed
out. One of them, a young female member named Calava, called for a
drink and the concubines were sent scurrying for kali-fal and glasses.
Molec saw Senator Vishma leave the chamber and without engaging any of
the others, head straight toward him. "Good, you are on duty," said
Vishma, grabbing Molec by his bicep. "My room – now!"

"I think not, Vishma."

Molec snapped his head around to see the formidable figure of the
Praetor. "I intend to use this one tonight. You will have to make do
with one of the others."

Whatever argument the two senators had engaged in while in the chamber
was clearly not resolved, and Molec realised that the Praetor had only
chosen him to annoy his subservient. The two Romulans stared at each
other for a long moment, Vishma's hands still holding Molec's bicep.
The Praetor's top lip curled into a cruel sneer. "Step down, Vishma."

Vishma released his grip and shoved Molec away, it was all he could
you to regain his balance and he stumbled slightly against the
Praetor. "Apologies, your Excellency," he mumbled quickly.

The Praetor held out a hand to steady him. "Come, I have many
frustrations to banish."

Molec bowed his head in respect and followed the Praetor out of the
antechamber and along the corridors to Tayha's quarters in the Senate
building. He was careful to stay a few paces behind the senator, again
a sign of respect, but he could not help but be intrigued by Romulus's
first minister – different from what he had expected when he had first
agreed to the mission. Tayha's war record was unimpressive, and he did
not belong to one of the leading families of Romulus. Like Malcolm
Reed, Praetor Tahya was not typical of the person who usually did his
job. Molec bit down on his lip so the pain would chase away the
thoughts of his husband – now was neither the time nor the place.

Tayha's quarters were unsurprisingly well appointed and extremely
beautiful. No detail had been left to chance when it came to the
Praetor's comfort. Molec looked around in awe. "Stop dawdling, and
come through to the bedroom," snapped Tahya. "I require a massage
before I make use of you in other ways."

Molec hurried to follow Tayha into his bedchamber. Once in there Molec
was staggered by the opulence of the room. He'd visited most of the
senators' quarters over the last few months but Tayha's were by far
the most impressive. The large bed was dressed in rich imported silks,
while the other furniture was ornately craved by the best artisans and
graced with delicate pottery and other ornaments. Mindful that the
Praetor had already begun to undress, Molec crossed over to the
dresser, knowing that the top drawer would contain a set of oils like
those found in every senator's quarters.

He removed a red glass bottle as the Praetor lay naked on top of the
bedspread. Remembering his so-called professionalism, Molec poured
some of the heavy-scented massage oil into his hands and took his
position straddling the Praetor's legs. Using long, firm strokes, he
began to work the muscles in Tayha's back. The Romulan groaned in
appreciation as Molec loosened a particularly tense knot in his
shoulders.

"Do you realise I remember your father?"

Molec continued with the massage, taking care that he did not alert
the Praetor to his anxiety. His identity had been taken from a real
man, dead five years and a second generation exile. No one in Section
31 had expected Molec's background to be questioned. "Sire?" he
answered neutrally.

"Believe it or not, Molec, not all Romulans would remember him
harshly. He was a good man until he betrayed his people."

"My father's actions shamed my family and my ancestors," Molec said
carefully.

The Praetor laughed. "That they did. And now you are here to repay his
debts."

"A sacrifice is needed."

"How very honourable of you, Molec," drawled Tayha. "Your sacrifice
will allow your children back into Romulan society."

Molec continued rubbing the green-tinged skin beneath his hands. "My
children will be of low class, but that is better than no class at
all."

Tayha shifted underneath him and Molec was unbalanced as the Praetor
sat up. "Enough small talk."

Molec knew the drill; Tayha's cock was already hard and erect. He
moved into a kneeling position, on all fours, presenting himself for
use. His mind closed as fingers probed his cleft and he thought of
nothing as the Praetor fucked him. He moved and rocked against the man
inside him, exerting enough effort so he would sweat and transfer his
secretions to the Praetor, but there was no emotional attachment, his
mind now carefully closed from even his memories. As per usual the
encounter was brief, the Romulan quick to release his frustrations in
Molec's willing body. Tayha slumped across Molec's back and withdrew,
collapsing back onto the bed, breathing heavily. "You exceed your
reputation. I will call on your services again."

Molec said nothing. He waited patiently for Tayha, already drowsy, to
succumb to sleep. Alerted by the main's soft snores, Molec crossed the
room and sat in front of the view screen and, as so many times before,
accessed the Romulan mainframe. Page after page appeared which Molec
then downloaded onto the subdermal data rod in his arm. So much
information, new and old, that had been hidden from him before. A
veritable goldmine of data.

"What are you doing?"

Molec jumped to his feet. The Praetor was still naked, striding
towards him. He was angry and ready to attack. Molec darted away from
the console, but the Romulan was too quick, and he struggled as the
Praetor grabbed his arm fiercely. "Like father, like son. Treachery is
in the blood!" sneered Tayha, throwing Molec to the floor.

Molec knew he had to act fast. If Tayha contacted security he was a
dead man. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, grabbing a vase from the
dressing table. The Praetor had turned his back on Molec and was
heading for the communication panel on the wall. Molec closed the
distance between them and with as much force as he could muster,
smashed the vase over the head of the Praetor.

The Praetor slumped to the floor. Time seemed to stand still as Molec
approached him. Hesitantly, he knelt beside the Praetor – he didn't
appear to be breathing. With a shaking hand, Mole reached out and
checked the stricken man's pulse. There was nothing.

Leaping to his feet, he returned to the view screen and he tapped in
his emergency codes. The channel was audio only, but it would be
sufficient. "You've gotta get me off the planet. I've fucking killed
the Praetor!"

---

to be continued in 'Debriefing'