Author: Caroline Crane
Pairing: Reed/Trip
Type: slash, M/M
Archive: just ask, I'll say yes
Feedback Address: caroline_crane@hotmail.com
Rating: R for subject matter? Implied sexual content only
Summary: A short foray into Malcolm's psychological make-up led me somewhere rather unexpected. Malcolm's POV as he contemplates a new relationship with Commander Tucker.
Disclaimer: They're not mine and if they were I probably wouldn't want to play with them anymore. And I probably still wouldn't make any money.
Author's Notes: This is a bit of a departure from my usual fare. For kinder, gentler Enterprise slash (and various other fandoms) feel free to stop by my web site (listed below). This is my first post to the list and I'm not sure why I chose this story to introduce myself but what the heck, it's probably the shortest thing I've ever written at least! If you think it's totally out of character by all means, let me know.
"Control"
by Caroline Crane
****
Perhaps it is a bit cliché to admit this, but I have always enjoyed the sight of a man in uniform. Even as a young lad, when all my schoolmates were busy trying to catch a glimpse of the girls' knickers I was more interested in watching the military processions that passed through the city. Even the sight of a police officer did more for me than I cared to admit at that age, certainly it wasn't something my friends would understand. At the time I convinced myself that it was merely my love of
all things military, I craved the structure of the system and what I perceived as the power that came along with the uniform.
As I grew older I could no longer convince myself that that was the case, in fact after I passed puberty the real reason for my fascination made itself painfully obvious more often than was convenient for a lad in boarding school. Still, I managed to find a few like-minded schoolmates to help pass the time, but those first few furtive encounters in boarding school dormitories or behind the gymnasium were nothing compared to the world that awaited me once I joined Starfleet.
It was surprisingly easy for me to come to terms with what some might consider a bit of a kink in my make-up, perhaps because it's always been part of who I am it was easier for me to acclimate to it than it would be for others. It wasn't until I was enrolled in the Academy itself that I realized it wasn't the power the uniform gave me that I craved, but the power the uniform had over me. Suddenly I found myself immersed in a world so strictly regimented that one could barely move without seeking the permission of a superior. In short, I was in heaven.
The concept of authority was one I never spared much contemplation for until I entered Starfleet; certainly I was aware of my attraction to men in uniform over other men I met in passing, but until I found myself compelled to adhere to a strict set of regulations I had no idea that it was the very thing I'd been missing all this time. There were attractions to fellow cadets, certainly, especially the older cadets who wielded a certain amount of authority over those of us that were fresh, so to speak. It began that way, with me willingly giving myself over to the superior authority of an upperclassman. After the first time I found myself seeking it out, spurning the interest of the cadets in my own class in favor of the older boys.
It was easy to tell myself it was the sight of all those uniforms at once that took away any prayer I had of self-control, suddenly immersing myself in the thing that had fueled my fantasies throughout adolescence could only have an adverse affect on my sense of decorum. Of course there were an equal number of women in uniform but my proclivities have always laid in my
own sex. That was never something I questioned or tried particularly to hide - what bothered me about my behavior was the overwhelming need I had to relinquish control.
As such I'm afraid my nearly insatiable appetite led me into one or two ill-advised situations early in my career involving superiors, but over time I learned to choose my partners carefully and with an eye for complete discretion. Starfleet as such has a policy of non-discrimination towards the homosexual population, of course, but I'm not entirely sure what the official stand on my particular needs would be. I believe the word "fraternization" is the most commonly used when officially forbidding the situations I tend to seek out.
Having said that, I went into my current commission with an understandable fear that I would immediately develop a - shall we call it a crush? - on the captain of the Enterprise. Past experience has taught me that as appealing as a physical relationship with the ship's captain might be, it is certainly not worth the danger to my career. There are still times when I find myself wondering just how dangerous it truly is, but thankfully I retain enough self-control to keep myself from losing my commission. Even so, I was certainly thankful to meet Captain Archer for the first time and realize that although he is the ship's captain he has none of the characteristics that would satisfy my particular needs.
Captain Archer is, in fact, like no other captain under which I have served so far in my career. He's obviously dedicated to his mission but his relaxed approach to leadership is something I certainly don't understand. Then again, perhaps I can at least sympathize with it.
I've watched them together in the weeks since we've been on board, observed the give and take of a long-standing friendship and surmised that the Captain and I indeed share a similarity or two. Perhaps he even thinks no one can tell, and he could be nearly right. The only reason I recognize it is because I understand. Whether or not the Captain and the Commander have
a physical relationship I have no way of knowing, not without breaking at least five or six regulations and jeopardizing my career. Still, the knowledge is almost, at times, worth the risk.
Images of the two of them together fill many of my leisure hours, whether there is a basis for my fantasies or if it truly is all my own conjecture doesn't matter. The idea is enough, in a way it's almost as pleasurable as the idea of seducing him myself. To think that he wields such iron control over a Starfleet captain, of all people.the mind reels.
It was quite dismaying to learn that Captain Archer's pride nearly got in the way of saving myself and Ensign Mayweather. I have no more love for the Vulcans than the rest of the crew but to know that our captain let his personal feelings interfere with the best course of action is a bit unsettling. How gratifying to hear that it was the Commander who changed Archer's mind, a few well-chosen words and the captain accepted, however reluctantly, the required assistance. So simple, so beautiful really. I only wish I could have witnessed it.
It's just as well I was otherwise occupied at the time, however, because I'm afraid the mere thought of the Commander coercing Archer in front of the senior staff makes my uniform uncomfortably tight. The fact that he was saving myself and Ensign Mayweather is secondary to the shiver of anticipation I gladly suffer every time I imagine him putting the captain in
his place. The captain. And from such an unlikely source - to meet and speak with Commander Tucker one would never imagine the extraordinary control he wields over the very man in charge of all our lives.
Until Ensign Hoshi informed myself and Mayweather of the events that took place on the bridge that day I wondered if it wasn't merely my own wishful thinking giving the Commander more authority than he was due. He and the captain have been friends for years, after all, and what I'd observed of their relationship so far could be interpreted any number of ways. My instinct that the Commander was firmly in charge of the give and take in their friendship could have been merely my conjecture, after all. Not until Hoshi relayed the events surrounding Vanik's offer of help did I allow myself to entertain the possibility of an overture toward the Commander.
I still wasn't sure, even as I formulated an excuse to make my way to Engineering I wasn't completely confident I'd made the right choice. Not until he looked up from his diagnostics report and met my gaze, then strode toward me and stopped just short of actual contact. No trace of the boyish grin meant to disarm the rest of the crew, only an authoritative glare and
one whispered command convinced me that I'd been correct all along. "Report to my quarters at 1900 hours, Lieutenant," he said, his voice low but nevertheless setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge with anticipation. "Don't keep me waiting."
A curt "yes, sir" and a slight nod was my only response, but I had no intention of keeping the Commander waiting. It wouldn't do to disobey a direct order, after all. I can hear him now, his breathing deep and even as he lies sprawled in his sheets. In sleep he looks once again the charming, salt of the earth image he projects to the world at large, but I have only to look in the mirror in front of me to see the proof of all that he doesn't show the world. The bruises are already starting to form - small, slightly swollen red marks tinged by the hint of the discoloration to come. I ghost my fingers across a meticulously placed mark shaped unmistakably like a strong, perfectly formed finger, a shiver of delight traveling down my spine at the hint of remembered pain and pleasure. There will be other opportunities, perhaps even before these marks heal. For now, though, they are enough. Proof that indeed I have chosen well.
Desiderium Caritas
http://www.geocities.com/carolinecrane