Warnings: A bit smutty, as a challenge to my prude-self. And anyway, I wanted to do something for national masturbation month. And watch out, this is most definately slash.

Note: Based on a challenge from Lt. Black Fire, who wanted the following:

-Someone has to share a room with Malcolm (NOT decon)
-Do give a reason for this arrangement
-I would like this to be Tucker/Reed, and to complicate things, they are either not quite together yet, or trying to keep their relationship secret – and THEY are not supposed to be the ones sharing quarters...so that there would be sneaking around involved.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I make no money, yadda, yadda, yadda.


"Please, Malcolm," Trip said, running a gentle hand along Malcolm's thigh. Kneeling, facing him, on the bed, Trip leaned towards him and began playing soft kisses down his neck.

As Trip traced his skin with his tongue, leaving a trail of heat, Malcolm breathed in his scent – warm and spicy, cinnamon, maybe, and vanilla, and something that was inherently Trip. "Really, we shouldn't," Malcolm said softly, leaning his head slightly to the side to allow Trip better access to his neck.

Trip pulled away and smiled. He reached a hand up under Malcolm's shirt, palm hot against his…

Malcolm squinted against the sudden, blinding light.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," his temporary roommate, Rostov, said as he lowered the lights to half. "I didn't realise that you'd be sleeping."

Malcolm closed his eyes again. "Late night," he murmured, allowing himself to drift, trying to remember his dream. He knew it had been a good one – his state of arousal certainly indicated that it was worth trying to get back into. He sighed and rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

He could hear Rostov – he supposed that he should call him Michael – rustling through the drawers behind him. It had been difficult getting used to having a roommate again, but he should be grateful. After all, if he'd been in his quarters when they'd hit that mine, he wouldn't be here to dream.

He remembered the feel of a tongue against his neck. Someone's very skilled tongue.

He wanted, desperately, to have some privacy again. After all, a person - perhaps especially one, such as he, who was not in a relationship - needed the occasional self-inflicted release. And with him and Rostov often working similar shifts, that privacy was going to be difficult to come by.

Malcolm chuckled. Come by. That was actually kind of funny.

"You okay there?" Rostov said from across the room.

"Fine, sorry. Dreaming," Malcolm replied, pulling the covers up over his head. That tongue, he thought. Whose ever it was, it would be worth getting back to.


Malcolm lay on his back in the tight space beneath the console, his feet the only part of him not hidden by the device. The mine had done a lot of damage to this area, and the smell of smoke was still sharp in the air.

He'd been helping engineering with repairs. It had been hard, hot work, and he reached to brush the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand.

He heard footsteps approaching, then felt someone kick one of his feet gently.

"Hey, Malcolm," Trip said.

Trip slid in next to him, looking straight up into the depths of the device above them. Malcolm could feel the heat from his body, pressed against his side in the tight space. As Trip began to work, his hands playing along the circuitry, Malcolm could feel every movement.

As they worked in silence, Malcolm began to be more and more aware of the body beside him. He could feel Trip's muscles shift as he pulled at the damaged wires overhead, hear the soft puffs as Trip breathed, smell the man's sweat as he worked in the close, hot environment.

It must just be the pleasure of having a body next to his, Malcolm thought. After all, it had been quite a while since he'd had a relationship with anyone. And now, with practically no privacy in his shared quarters, it had been a while since he'd armed the cannon. He blew out a breath. It was becoming distracting - so much so that even casual things were starting to take on sexual overtones. Like the feel of his friend's hand brushing past his side as he reached overhead to fasten a bolt.

Malcolm stared at Trip's hands above him. Nice hands. Strong, but elegant.

"Malcolm?" came Trip's questioning voice from beside him. "You okay?"

Malcolm turned to see Trip's face, so close, mere inches from his own. Staring into his friend's eyes, he gulped out a strangled "Yeah."

Trip smiled. "You sure? 'Cuz you look like you were drifting off there."

At Malcolm's answering nod, Trip turned back to the circuits above him, appraising them. "All done here," he said.

"Trip?" Malcolm said, his voice shaky.

Trip turned back to Malcolm. "Yes?"

"Forget it, it was nothing," Malcolm said. He could feel his cheeks getting hot, and knew that he must be blushing.

"What?" Trip stared at him intensely.

He was so close, Malcolm thought, pinned by Trip's gaze. He could feel Trip's body heat through their uniforms, all along the side where they were touching. He could feel Trip's body, hard against his side. God. It felt gorgeous.

Malcolm spoke in a rush, before he could lose his courage. "What are you doing later?"

Trip shrugged, small in that tight space, and Malcolm could feel the movement. "Don't know," Trip said. "Haven't thought that far ahead yet."

"If you'd like, you could stop by. Have a few drinks."

"Yeah, sure," Trip said casually as he slid out from beside Malcolm.

Malcolm exhaled loudly.


Malcolm stood in front of Rostov's mirror and ran a rough hand through his hair, making it stand up a bit. He stepped back, appraising his appearance: black jeans, black shirt. Casual, but at the same time, kind of dangerous. He raised one eyebrow. Excellent.

The door chimed and Malcolm opened it to reveal Trip, dressed in a loud, horrible shirt, and torn jeans. Trip looked at Malcolm, then down at himself. "I feel underdressed."

Malcolm smiled. "Nah, you look great."

Trip looked up, a grin breaking across his features. "At least I brought booze," he said, holding up a bottle of Vodka. "Absolut."

Malcolm watched as he entered the room and placed the bottle on the desk. "Very good," Malcolm said. "But I have nothing to mix it with."

"That's all right. It's vanilla." Trip sat on Malcolm's bunk, and patted the mattress beside him.

Malcolm paused. Vanilla. There was something about his dream, and vanilla…but then it was gone. He pulled two glasses down from the shelf overhead, and Trip poured healthy servings.

As Trip raised the glass and toasted, Malcolm watched his movements. There was a grace about the man. Every move was sensuous, and he didn't think that Trip was even aware. He lifted his own glass in a toast and watched as Trip downed the shot in one quick gulp. Trip said something, and smiled, then ran a finger along the rim of the glass, catching the last drops. He placed his finger in his mouth and Malcolm had to look away.

Get your head out of the gutter, Reed, Malcolm thought. He's your friend, nothing more. He glanced back at Trip, who was refilling their glasses. Trip ran his tongue across his lower lip, and Malcolm couldn't help but think of what he'd like Trip to do with that tongue. He looked away again. A lack of wanking is affecting your judgement, he thought, looking blankly at the wall. At this point, you'd probably even find a sandwich sexy.

"Something's bugging you," Trip said. "Out with it."

Malcolm, unsure of what to say, went with the least embarrassing. "It's my roommate situation."


"Nah, he's fine. Just…" Malcolm waved around him. "Having a roommate in general. Not having my own space."

Trip took a sip from his drink. "Temporarily, just for another week or so."

"It'll be nice to have some privacy again."

Trip looked over the rim of his glass with a sly smile. "Well, he's not here right now."

"Right," Malcolm said, uncertain of what his friend meant.

"What is it you'd like to do that you'd need privacy for?"

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

Trip smiled. "Shaving your legs? Cat wrestling? Ballroom dance practice?"

Malcolm relaxed. "Right," he said, laughing. "It's the ballroom dance. I'm getting seriously out of practice."

Trip stood, holding out one hand. "Come on."

"What?" Malcolm asked, flustered. "I mean, pardon?"

Trip nodded, shaking the outstretched hand. "I'll even let you lead."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh.

Trip reached down and grabbed his hand, tugging him to standing. He settled Malcolm in front of him, then held his arms up in a waltz hold, Malcolm following. After some shifting, Trip trying to figure out how not to lead, they began dancing, at first awkwardly, then more smoothly as they got used to each other's movements.

Malcolm led, smiling, taking occasional glances up into the taller man's face. He started humming a waltz as they moved, legs occasionally brushing, Trip's hand firm on his arm.

Malcolm led Trip into a twirl, and ONE two three FOUR five six Trip was back to him again, but closer this time. Malcolm could feel the heat coming off of the other man's body, and he took in a deep breath: vanilla, cinnamon, and something that was inherently Trip. Malcolm stumbled a bit, the scent tickling his memory, and they stopped.

Trip grasped his hand more tightly. Looking down, Trip asked, "You okay?"

Malcolm looked up into his friend's eyes and found that he couldn't speak. All he could do was nod.

"You breathing?"

Malcolm laughed and let out a breath he hadn't realised that he'd been holding. "I am now."

Trip squeezed his hand. Malcolm felt the hand on his arm move to his back and begin rubbing a slow circle. "Maybe we should stop," Trip said softly, his eyes sparkling and intense.

Malcolm shook his head. "I'd rather not."

Trip smiled. "Neither would I."

Malcolm heard the door swish open behind him, and Trip took a hasty step back, releasing him.

Rostov said, "Evening," and Malcolm turned to face him. Looking frankly at Malcolm, Rostov said, "You okay? You seem a little flushed."

Trip stepped towards the door, brushing past Rostov. "I really should be going." Just as he was about to exit, he turned back to Malcolm, raising an eyebrow. Then he smiled. "Later," he said, the word sounding more of promise than dismissal.


Malcolm sat in the mess, playing with the food on the plate in front of him. He was exhausted; they'd been working non-stop on repairs, and he hadn't seen Trip in days.

He looked up as someone slid into the seat beside him: Trip.

Trip leaned in, his face quite close to Malcolm's. Whispering, he said, "I have something for you."


Trip nuzzled Malcolm's jaw, so fast that he wasn't sure it had happened. Then, seductively, Trip said, "Come with me."

What can I do? Malcolm thought, his heart beating madly. He followed.

Trip led Malcolm to his old door, triggering it open and waving him in. Malcolm stepped inside and stopped, amazed. His quarters had been restored, right down to the photo of him and Trip on leave on Risa. He heard the door swish shut, and turned to Trip, smiling.

Trip looked sheepish. "I'm sorry I haven't seen you, but I've been busy."

"I can see that."

Trip stepped close. "I figured if I finished this, we could have us some of that privacy that you were so missing," he said, his accent heavy.

Malcolm only had time to think a rushed "Oh, my God," before Trip's hand was in his hair, his mouth on his. He felt Trip's tongue trace along his lower lip, and he opened his mouth; their tongues touched, electric. He felt Trip's fingers curl through his hair, pulling him closer. Then Trip's body was pressed against his, Trip leaning down over him. Malcolm's hands reached up, running along Trip's back, under his shirt. Skin, so hot. He pressed up against Trip, hip to hip, and felt him, hard.

He heard a knock on the door and Trip pulled back, looking down at him. "You have got to be kidding me," Trip said.

Malcolm shrugged. "We could just not open it."

Then he heard a voice through door: Captain Archer. "Trip, you in there?"

"Um, yeah," Trip said. "Just a minute." He quickly ran his hands through his hair, and straightened his shirt. Then he looked at Malcolm. "You look…"

"Flustered?" Malcolm asked, running his fingers through his hair. "Embarassed?"

Trip shook his head, his eyes happy. "Wonderful."

Malcolm smiled, and Trip kissed him softly.

The Captain's voice came through the door again. "Trip?"

Trip stepped back and went to the door. He glanced over his shoulder to Malcolm and rolled his eyes, then triggered the door.

"Sorry, the comm. outside didn't work," Archer said as he entered. Glancing from Trip, to Malcolm, then back to Trip, he asked, "Am I disturbing something?

Trip answered, "No. I was just showing Malcolm his new digs."

Archer turned to Malcolm. "Do you like what you see?"

Malcolm couldn't help it. He glanced at Trip. Trip looked back at him with clear lust in his eyes, and Malcolm had to look away. He blushed, then turned back to Archer. "Yes, sir. Very much so."

Archer clapped him on the back. "Very good." Turning to Trip, he said, "I'm on my way to the bridge, and I need you to…" his voice trailed away as he left the cabin, Trip following close behind.

As the door shut, Malcolm simply stood there, a bit lost. Then the door opened again and Trip entered, shouting back over his shoulder, "Be right with you, Captain, I need to show Malcolm one last thing."

As the door closed, Trip pulled Malcolm to him firmly. Then he very gently took Malcolm's hand and drew it to his lips. He nipped Malcolm's index finger, then sucked, drawing it into his mouth for a moment, his eyes blazing. Malcolm gasped. Trip turned Malcolm's hand over, palm up, and placed a soft, feathering kiss in its centre.

Trip squeezed his hand, then left without a word.

Malcolm sat, hard, on his bed. He stared at himself in his mirror for a moment, then he smiled. Yes, he thought. It will be nice to be back in his own room. Very nice, indeed.