Here Comes the Sun

Sunlight. Warm breeze. Birdsong and quiet background noises carrying from outside. With the last tendrils of pleasant dreams clinging to me, I keep my eyes closed, trying to fade back into sleep, too comfortable—too complacent—to want to wake. Memories of the banquet last night tell me where I am, and I don't remember falling asleep.

I drift along in a drowsy haze. Cobwebs of vague memories return, of holding someone and being held. Dream-like images of a warm body spooned against my back, legs entwined. A strong arm embracing me, a hand against my chest, the enjoyable tickle of warm breath between my shoulders. A shadowy impression of my arms around a solid form, pulling it towards me in a possessive hug, nestling in closer.

Still floating, I remember that I have nothing urgent to do today; I don't have to get up, I can indulge in the rarity of just luxuriating in bed. And a very fine and cozy bed it is. I've sunk into the downy pillows stacked up behind me, and my hand is stroking the silky texture of the one resting on my stomach—

But then I notice the pillow on my stomach shift, pressing on my bladder. Which isn't a good thing, considering, one, I have the usual morning wood and I'll have to wait until it subsides before I can pee. And two—pillows, no matter how silky, shouldn't move and shouldn't weigh that much.

My heart speeds up and I open my eyes.

Last night comes back in a flash and I freeze.

Malcolm's using my stomach for a pillow, which I guess I can't blame him, since I seem to be hoarding all of them. He's facing me, my usual morning hard on stiffening further at the sight, and if he had moved his head back another inch, it would've most likely given him a concussion.

I slowly remove my hand from his hair, careful not to wake him. I don't think I could explain this right now. I should close my eyes and try to will away my woody, but damn it—I have to look.

Which doesn't help. There's a fine powder of stubble lining his jaws and his hair should be court-martialed for insubordination. He's curled into a secure little ball, knees drawn up, fists jammed under his chin, and I can just make out the barest hint of a smile on his lowered face. He looks—unbelievable. Utterly motionless and untroubled, refreshed, that weary fatigue gone.

I study his face, reveling in this opportunity to see him so close, and so completely oblivious and defenseless. Not sedated. Not unconscious. Not his usual wary and fitful dozing during an extended away mission. Just simply asleep.

I have to force myself to look away and I glance at the chronometer. I'm surprised to see it's almost noon. No wonder he looks well- rested.

But, as scrumptious as my armory officer looks, this is a pretty embarrassing, not to mention compromising, position. I don't think I could stand it if he woke up and saw my very obvious arousal, which is getting more aroused by the second.

I move very slowly, trying to ease out from under him.

Imagine my chagrin when he reacts to my movements by unfurling and rolling onto his back, turning his head to the side.

Another centimeter and I would have poked his eye out.

He wiggles around a bit before settling in and now…oh, god…his mouth is so close. I've heard the phrases 'straining dick' and 'weeping cock' and damn if I'm not embodying both examples of that horrible purple prose.

Someone please put me out of my misery. Where's a phase pistol when you need one?

My heart is pounding and I'm trying to slow my breathing. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jon, and try to ignore the fact that you're pinned to a big comfortable bed by your very attractive armory officer who's just a hair's breath away from one of the biggest chubbies you've ever popped. I close my eyes and pray.

Little Jonny, who's now Great BigTwitching Jonny, is trying to escape, aching to shuffle off the mortal coils of constraining harem pants and make a mad dash toward those tempting lips, distracting me from my devotions. Think about something else, Jon.

Well, that doesn't help.

I open my eyes to forestall the lusty reveries my treacherous mind is trying to foist upon me.

Unfortunately my eyes land on him. His groin to be exact. Hey, there's not much else to look at in this room.

Hmmm. Looks like I've found that phase pistol.

Those white pants aren't quite see through, but they aren't exactly opaque either. I can't help but notice he's uncircumcised. I've never had an uncut lover. Oh shit. That's not a good line of thought.

I stay perfectly still and close my eyes. And think about Ambassador Soval.

Oh, yeah. That kills the libido every time.

Big Twitching Jonny finally subsides to a manageable Just Nice to See You Jonny, but my bladder is now tapping its foot and looking at its watch impatiently.

I raise up onto my elbows, the better to assess the situation and to plan a tactical withdrawal. Moving up simply will not do, considering where Malcolm's mouth is and where my…

Soval. Ambassador Soval and that constipated look he gets on his face whenever we talk.

Whew. That was close.

If I scuttle downward and off to the side, maybe I can slip out from underneath without waking him. Sounds like a plan.

As soon as I move, he moves.

This time he stretches, a ripple effect from top to bottom, whole body flexing, arms, legs, even his fingers. Then I watch in fascination as his toes splay open wide. That's kind of bizarre. Bizarre, but…cute. He shifts his head off my bladder and up higher on my stomach, one arm now extending across my leg and hand curling around it, then does that snuggly little wiggle again. He makes a growly sigh, relaxes, and lays inert once more.

I stare at his feet. I've never noticed how small they are.

I mean, you could fit a family of six in my shoes. I have big feet. Although that came in handy during my water polo days. I could tread water real well, kind of like built-in flippers.

But his feet are cute. So are his toes. Even if he can stretch them out like a monkey.

His other hand is lying above his naval and of course my eye wanders there. Cute belly button. Just a cute little indentation. A little dusting of fine dark hair making a little bunny trail from his navel down. Very cute.

Oh god, Jon. Why not just get in touch with your inner preteen girl and start drawing pictures of unicorns and using hearts and flowers to dot your i's. You're a middle-aged man for Christ's sake, captain of the world's first warp drive ship. Lying here thinking your armory officer, who most likely could kill you with his bare hands, is cute.

Aw, but he is.

Okay, I'm a dork. I own a beagle for god's sake. One of the cutest breeds known to man. And I named him Porthos. Damn cute name. And he's a damn cute little guy, yes he is.

And there's a damn cute guy using me as a pillow. And we're in a big comfy bed.

I have to start thinking about Soval again and after a few unpleasant minutes, I'm fine. Little Jonny though is getting rather miffed with the on again, off again situation here. I placate him by promising him a date with Mr. Hand in the shower later today.

Malcolm's still fast asleep and I'm thinking about trying to scuttle out from under him again, although I'm actually very content just to lie here. My bladder is no longer complaining since he moved off it, and he's facing me once more. He's dreaming, eyes moving rapidly under his lids, and there's a little smirk back on his face.

I am masochistic and allow myself to hope he's dreaming about me.

I have to tear my gaze away before it becomes overwhelming. I look at his feet again and I can't help smiling. I let my eyes drift upward, his legs and thighs, studying them. He's perfectly proportioned, legs strong and sturdy. Nicely shaped. I make myself blip over his crotch because I finally got Little Jonny to settle down.

My eyes continue their flagrant ogling. He's slender, like he's always a meal or two behind or something, but his body, his arms and chest, they're all well defined. I inspect the arm stretched out along my leg. The underlying muscle is clearly detailed, but you'd never know it if you only see him in uniform. Now Travis, you definitely know he's got something going on under there. Yeah, Travis is one nice looking guy.

But he isn't Malcolm.

Malcolm is…full of surprises. All of which I love him for.

There. I've said it. I love him.

I love him for his snarky moods, his dry and often sarcastic humor, the way he gets sulky and cross. I love him for his paranoid concern for the safety of his crewmates and the ship and when he politely criticizes me with that caustic tongue of his. I love him for his consistent stubborn attempts at maintaining a military decorum even in the face of my more relaxed style. I love him for all his insecurities, self-doubts, and introverted awkwardness. I love him for his protectiveness toward Hoshi, and the friendship and fierce loyalty he's developed with Trip. I love him for the free and easy rapport he has with Travis as they banter on the bridge or mastermind practical jokes together in the mess hall. Yeah, Malcolm isn't above giving Travis ideas. Not that Malcolm would ever stoop to actually doing the dirty work himself. But he sure knows how to outline a plan of attack.

I love him for the times he screws up, when he's harder on himself than I could ever be. I love him for his pessimistic outlook, even though he'll tell you he's just being realistic. I love him for that work ethic, striving constantly to do his best, give his all, and perform his duty no matter what. I love him when he lets down his guard, just a little, and I can see the man underneath the Starfleet camouflage. When I spoke to his parents that first year, the first thing out of his father's mouth was, "Is he in some sort of trouble?" And that's another part of Malcolm that I love, the man who adores a little mischief, who lets himself be pulled into harebrained stunts with Trip, the man who would stand on a comet and build a snowman with Vulcan ears.

I've been staring at his body, but what I feel is so much more than just mere lust. I like him. Who he is. As a person. As a crewmate. And as a friend.

However, his body's pretty damn nice. I like him for that, too. A lot.

My eyes travel upward.

Imagine my surprise when lazy blue-grey eyes meet mine.

It's funny how he goes from an absolutely enchanting sleepy passivity to full panic mode in only a few seconds. I can actually see the moment of realization of where and how he's lying hit him. So I'm not startled when he jack knifes in half, rolling away and sitting up all in one quick and graceful action.

Oh, there's that charming little blush spreading across his cheeks. His mouth is working but nothing's coming out.

"Morning, Malcolm." At least one of us has to say something.

"Morning, sir."

That hesitant tone is full of questions. I suppose it is disconcerting to wake up and find yourself using your captain as a pillow while he's brazenly leering at you. How am I going to explain this one?

"Sleep well?" Okay. So that's not an explanation. Give me some time here.

"Um. Yes, very. Thank you, sir."

He quickly looks around, all tense and nervous. His eyes take in my harem pants and his gaze flicks back to me.

"Er. I take it you…slept well, too, sir?"

I just love it when he tries to make small talk. He's not very good at it.

"Never better."

I'm finding this amusing now, the both of us half naked and in our flimsy harem pants, lounging in a huge, wonderfully comfortable bed. He must see something in my face because he looks at me and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

"Did I wander into the wrong room last night, or did you?"

"Trip traded me. He needed some privacy."

"Twalana?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Hmm. I was wondering how he was going to manage that. I wasn't too keen on sharing a bed with the pair of them."

"The way you were laid out, I don't think they would have fit."

He grins at that. "Just staking my territory."

"Hope you didn't mind sharing your territory with me last night."

The grin fades and the blush returns, a perfectly timed exchange of one for the other. He breaks eye contact and is suddenly nervous again.

"No. No, not at all, sir. To be honest, I didn't even notice. But I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you—" He moves again, as if to rise.

Shit. Malcolm's in full retreat. Can't have that. I catch his arm.

"Don't run. Stay with me. Please?"

My fingers betray me by sweeping down his skin in a gentle caress before I let go. It doesn't matter; my words and voice have already given me away.

His face is inscrutable, but I've come to expect that. It's always been his eyes that expose him. But I don't know what he's thinking. I can't see them; they're downcast, staring at the spot where my hand had been.

"Captain—"

His voice is husky and I can't quite tell with what.

"Jon. You've known me for close to four years now, Malcolm. You can use my first name." I smile and then tease him. "Hell, you were just using me as a pillow a couple of minutes ago."

That makes him blush again and when he speaks I can barely hear him.

"Such familiarity is inappropriate. The fraternization rules—"

"Have been suspended for the duration of this mission. That comes directly from Starfleet and Admiral Forest himself signed off on it."

"But they're there for a reason. To prevent sexual harassment of the lower ranks from the officers, to prevent favoritism, to prevent someone from failing to do their duty because of personal entanglements…"

"After all this time on Enterprise, do you really think we have people who would react that way?" I ignore his muttered "No" and press on. I just blurt it out. "I know I've been a jerk lately, but do you really think I would act that way?"

That makes him look at me and I can read it all in his eyes now before he looks away again. He wants to ignore the fraternization rules, he wants to give in. He just can't make himself surrender.

He shakes his head slowly. "No. No, you wouldn't act that way. But what happens if things fall apart? Then what?"

"What happens if things work?"

He gives a rueful laugh. "It'd be a miracle. Most relationships I've had last anywhere from a couple of months to a couple hours."

I draw closer to him and place my hand on his shoulder. I want him to look at me, but he's avoiding my eyes.

"Then that didn't give them time to know you very well. Or you them. After all these years, I've seen you at your worst, and your best. And you've certainly seen me at mine. I love what I see, Malcolm. And I pray you do too."

He still won't look at me, but despite the warmth of the room I can feel the goose bumps rise under my fingers.

My voice is thick with emotion now, but I can't shut up. "We can make this work. We just have to take the chance. What do you want, Malcolm? Because I know I want. I want this chance."

I close my mouth before I start begging and my hand travels on its own accord over to that juncture between his shoulder and neck. And then I caress him. I can't help it.

He leans into it. My god, he leans into to it and relaxes. He looks at me, his eyes fully meeting mine.

And I see them dilate. They dilate, because he's looking at me. They dilate, the brightness of the room notwithstanding.

They dilate, because he wants me.

I see myself reflected in his pupils.

And when I lean in and our lips touch, I feel my love reflected in his kiss.