Shadow Love

"If you don't let him walk you two to your room, he's gonna be worrying all night long," Trip said.

Hoshi relented and nodded to Malcolm. Liz rose and took Hoshi's hand.

"Oh, all right. Far be it for me to ruin Jon's fun," Hoshi said, giving the Captain a saucy smirk.

"Hoshi!" Liz reproached. But she couldn't help giggling.

Malcolm's cheeks began to color, but Jon just laughed. Jon ran a loving hand over Malcolm's arm, then grasped his fingers. "That's right, Hoshi. I don't need him pacing around for the rest of the evening, fretting like a mother hen."

"Jon," Malcolm admonished, cheeks blazing now. "I'm not that bad."

There was much eye rolling and laughter from his crewmates. Malcolm ducked his head. "You're all a lot of wanking gits…" he groused and Jon tugged him down and pecked him on the temple. Malcolm turned and reciprocated the kiss, catching Jon's lips. When Jon pulled back, Malcolm was smiling that small half smile; still blushing though.

Jon thought he was beautiful.

After more than two years of being lovers, Malcolm was finally able to show his affection in public, even in front of their friends and colleagues.

And Jon knew the only reason why he did so was because it pleased Jon. Malcolm loved him fiercely and would do anything for him.

Almost anything.

Hopefully tonight though, here on leave on a planet that even Malcolm had conceded was safe and friendly, Jon could persuade him to acquiesce to one more thing.

He just had to get Malcolm to relax a little more.

Hoshi tossed back the rest of her drink and slipped an arm around Malcolm's waist. Liz shot a teasing glance at Hoshi and mirrored her on the other side.

"Come on, lover boy, walk us to our room and make sure the boogeyman's not under the bed or hiding in the closet," Liz said, giving Malcolm a little squeeze.

"And if you behave, we'll let you stay and watch," Hoshi added and Malcolm chuckled.

"I finally get to be in the middle of the two most beautiful women on the ship and I'm only allowed to watch? That hardly seems fair."

"Who said life's fair?" Trip asked. He was alone this evening. He swallowed the rest of his drink and caught the waiter's eye, signaling for another one.

"Well then, Trip, I guess if you behave, we'll let you stay and watch," Jon said. Hoshi and Liz guffawed while Malcolm colored again. Jon winked at him and finished his drink.

Malcolm bent down and kissed Jon again. "You're incorrigible, love," he murmured in Jon's ear. "I'll be right back."

Malcolm led the two women toward the exit, supporting his tipsy crewmates as they leaned against him, and Jon watched, admiring the way his lover moved. Jon had coaxed a reluctant Malcolm into wearing the dark rough-hide leather pants, tight and the color of dried blood. He appreciated the way they hugged his beloved's ass, hips, and thighs. Jon licked his lips unconsciously, watching the play of muscles in Malcolm's back and arms, the stark white tee shirt clinging to him as he threaded the women through the crowded bar and out the door.

Trip, relaxed and happy, watched Jon stare after Malcolm.

It had been months since Malcolm had been forced to kill for the first time and Trip had kept a careful eye on Jon. But Jon hadn't made a bad call since. There had been one or two incidents, but they were those types of unavoidable situations that the first exploratory Earth ship would find. Trip could safely say that Jon had done everything in his power to prevent these occurrences, and Trip had once again seen why Jon was chosen as the best man to captain the Enterprise.

Jon's skilled diplomacy and shrewd leadership had shone through these last months. They had met several new alien races, signed four trade agreements, and Earth was now in talks with one species regarding a treaty. And it was all due to Captain Jonathan Archer.

Trip thought that Jon had channeled that manipulative streak into his command attitude, and he had seen no sign of Jon trying to maneuver circumstances into potentially dangerous situations in his occasionally compulsive quest for a sexual payoff. Trip was relieved, not only for Jon's sake, but for Malcolm's.

Trip had been attracted to Malcolm for some time. It wasn't surprising that he and Jon would be drawn to the same man; they were so similar to each other that it wasn't unexpected that Trip would find Jon's tastes comparable to his own.

But Jon had beaten him to it. While Trip had been building a slow friendship, Jon had aggressively pursued what he wanted using a subtle hand. As he always did.

Trip was okay with it though. He loved Jon, not only as an ex-lover, but as a best friend.

However, he still kept one eye on Jon, waiting, and hoping, that his manipulative nature wouldn't overcome his common sense and decency again.

And so far, it hadn't. Jon listened to Malcolm with greater frequency now on security measures, and Malcolm's instincts were right more often than not. They had avoided several dicey incidents and it made Jon's diplomatic successes all the sweeter.

The waiter came over with another drink and Trip took it gratefully. It was nice to unwind for a change. In the company of friends. And it was a relief to see Malcolm finally shake off the last remnants of the quiet despondency that had shrouded him after killing those aliens. It had taken weeks before Trip could close his eyes at night and not see those aliens decompressing, their flesh and blood raining down on his friend. He didn't want to imagine what Malcolm saw when he tried to sleep.

But Trip had to confess that Jon's stalwart compassion, his love and fierce devotion had seen Malcolm through the grief and remorse.

However, Trip also had to admit that Malcolm wouldn't have had to kill anyone in the first place if Jon had only been more careful.

***

Jon eyed the half empty glass Malcolm had been nursing all night. At the rate Malcolm was going, he'd never get his lover to relax.

"I'm afraid this is the last round, gentlebeings. We must discontinue service a ploc before we close," the waiter announced before leaving.

Shit, Jon thought with disgust. That gave him roughly fifty minutes. By the time Malcolm got back and finished his drink, they would no longer be serving, and Jon's plans for the rest of the evening would be disrupted. He had brought everything with him, planning ahead for a special night with his beloved.

Jon just had to get Malcolm to loosen up enough to accede to his desires.

He rose from his chair, and waited a moment to steady himself. Trip gave him a questioning look.

"Just going to get me and Malcolm one last drink," Jon said pleasantly. Trip nodded and sipped his own as he watched Jon make his careful way toward the bartender.

Trip sat in a satisfying haze, enjoying the music and the multi-colored natives surrounding him. Their table was in the corner, dark and intimate, and no one paid them much attention. It was nice to be anonymous, not being stared at, aliens on another planet and a curiosity to the people who lived there.

He watched Jon engage the bartender in conversation and he could see him turn on the Archer charm. Trip snorted a laugh into his drink, wondering what Jon was up to.

***

"Something strong enough to make your friend...relax?" the bartender asked.

Jon nodded. "Yeah. Last drink and all, you know? Something different. Something…strong." Jon gave the bartender an innocent and winning smile, hoping he could eventually buy a bottle from him. "My friend finds it difficult to unwind sometimes, and I just want him to have a nice time." The bartender couldn't help but smile back at the beguiling alien.

The bartender looked over at the table the alien had come from and studied the other outlander sitting there. He turned his attention to the attractive man in front of him again. The two made a handsome couple; they complemented each other very nicely.

"Do you love him?" the bartender asked with a knowledgeable and supportive smile.

"With all my heart," Jon answered with sincerity, surprised by the man's perceptiveness.

The bartender nodded his approval. "And he loves you?"

"He'd die for me," Jon replied with confidence.

So romantic, the bartender thought with contentment. "And you would like for him to receive pleasure tonight?" he asked, his tone friendly and sympathetic.

Jon smiled, a bit sheepish, but he nodded. "It's his job to keep us safe and it's hard for him to let his guard down. He knows we're secure on your planet, but it's a pretty ingrained habit…"

The bartender nodded knowingly. A difficult responsibility. He looked at the fair-haired alien sitting at the table again, thinking that the younger man was lucky to have a zar-tar who cared so much for him. He made his decision and turned, pulling four bottles down from the shelf behind him. He combined them in a tall glass with quick and efficient motions, then withdrew a small vial from under the bar.

"The drink is potent, but this," and he carefully showed the bottle of black liquid to Jon and lowered his voice, "this will cost you a bit more." The bartender named a price.

"What is it?" Jon asked.

"If he truly loves you, then this will allow him to relax. It removes inhibitions and cares." The bartender looked at Jon intently. "If he truly loves you, then he will be…compliant and allow you to pleasure him, and he you, without compunction, doing anything you ask of him. But, if he does not love you with all his heart, then no matter what you say or do, he will not acquiesce. Are you willing to find out the extent of his love? Can you bear knowing the truth if it should be revealed that his love is not absolute?"

Jon did not hesitate. "He loves me. With all his soul. And I love him. I have no doubts. I'll take it."

The force and complete conviction of Jon's statement made the bartender blink. He smiled, pleased that his feeling about the man in front of him had been right. He looked at the man at the table again, gauging his weight and height with a long practiced eye. He then added three drops of the liquid to the drink, and the beverage immediately turned black.

Jon held out the currency and then offered the rest of his considerable cache. "I'd like to take the whole vial."

The bartender was impressed. Such unequivocal certitude. He nodded, warning him before handing it over. "Do not use more than the amount I have for each time. Any more and the intoxication will become too great, and the morning afterwards will be very unpleasant."

"It won't hurt him, will it?" Jon asked, horrified, and he snatched his hand away from the vial.

"No! No, it will just make him very ill. However, he may prefer death rather than endure the aftermath," the bartender chuckled. "There is nothing anyone can do to alleviate the effects of too much kiltoch. And we should know, my people have tried for years to find a counteragent." The bartender laughed again and Jon laughed with him as he took the vial and tucked it away in his pocket.

"Your mate is at his mature height and weight at this time?" the bartender asked.

Jon frowned a bit, puzzled. "I don't understand what you mean."

"The kiltoch's performance is predicated upon size. Gain or lose 20 largs and you must adjust the dosage up or down a drop accordingly, grow four tims and you can use another half drop…"

Jon smiled. "No, he's as tall as he'll get. Our species don't get any taller after we reach our adult height. And he stays in very good shape, so I doubt he'll be gaining any weight."

The bartender nodded and his eyes drifted to his customer's mate again. "Very good shape. You could be from the same sartog, your colorings and forms so similar. The congruity is pleasing. "

Jon nodded and smiled again, not quite understanding what the man meant, but not really caring at this point. The thought of a cooperative Malcolm, willing to submit to whatever Jon wanted, was tremendously exciting to him.

Jon had no doubt that the kiltoch would work. Knew that Malcolm would not refuse his entreaties. Malcolm loved him. He'd kill for him. Die for him. Jon had seen proof of that.

He thanked the bartender and took their drinks back to the table, walking cautiously so as not to spill a drop. He was feeling a bit fuzzy, but it only added to his arousal. Thoughts of the items he had brought with him made his groin warm and he placed the glasses on the table and sat down, adjusting himself surreptitiously.

"What the hell is that?" Trip asked, indicating to the black drink in front of Malcolm's empty seat.

"Just a little something the bartender whipped up special," Jon replied with a wink and finished off Malcolm's old beverage.

Trip snaked a hand toward it. "Let me try a little." Jon batted him away.

"Hey. That's for Malcolm," Jon laughed, but he kept Trip away from the glass.

"What's for me?"

Jon looked up into the amused eyes of his cherished one.

"Did the girls let you watch?" Trip asked, a cheerful smirk on his face.

"No. They wouldn't even let me check their room. Barely opened it before Hoshi was trying to strip Liz of her shirt. Slammed the door in my face and locked it without a goodbye." Malcolm chuckled and Trip started laughing.

Malcolm sat and Jon pushed the drink at him. "Here. They're closing soon, so finish that up and we'll call it a night." Jon kept the eagerness out of his voice.

Malcolm eyed the drink with suspicion. "It's black."

"You've had black vodka before," Jon replied smoothly. "I know you like it. I was surprised that they had something kinda similar here."

Malcolm shrugged and took a sip. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "It's good. Doesn't taste like vodka though." He took another sip. "It's excellent, Jon. Thanks, love," and he gave Jon a small 'cheers' salute with the glass.

Jon leaned over and kissed him and Trip snorted, taking another swig of his drink. "Keep your shirt on, Jon. You'll have plenty of time for that…"

Malcolm laughed and shook his head, but he ran his fingers down Jon's arm, covering Jon's hand with his own.

"A toast," Jon said, raising his glass. "To friends and lovers." They tapped their glasses together, all downing a large gulp, Jon greedily watching Malcolm.

Trip started talking, kidding around with Malcolm, and Jon watched his former lover banter with his current one. The two men ribbed each other without mercy, laughing and firing off humorous insults and comic asides.

Jon watched avidly as the liquid in Malcolm's glass slowly began to diminish. Malcolm was soft spoken as usual, but there was a faint glow of color on each cheek, his accent becoming lazier, his words less clipped, the enunciation of the vowels and syllables less precise. Jon watched Malcolm's usually alert posture become careless as he stretched out, slouching in his chair, laughing at one of Trip's comments. Malcolm's habitually tense features were smooth and unguarded and Jon thought his beloved looked so very delectable right now.

As much as he craved a wound up intense Malcolm, Jon thought that this Malcolm was breathtaking.

And tonight, this Malcolm would be his.

***

Jon watched as Malcolm swallowed the last of his drink, eyes drawn to his beloved's mouth. He adored the way Malcolm's tongue would dart out to wet his lips. Jon knew what that gifted mouth could do and he felt another ignition of warmth spread through his body.

It was time to test the kiltoch.

Jon leaned over and took Malcolm's hand. Malcolm turned his head, his eyes not quite tracking as quickly as usual, that rare broad smile appearing on his face as he focused on Jon.

"Come here," Jon purred, and pushed his chair back, pulling Malcolm toward him.

Malcolm rose and allowed Jon to draw him over.

"Sit down," and Jon patted his lap, knowing that Malcolm normally would be reticent to be so boldly public.

So he was elated when Malcolm straddled him in one ethereal movement, his lover's eyes boring into his own.

Jon kissed him, mouth open and probing, a thrill flashing through him as he felt Malcolm respond without reservation, opening his mouth in turn. Jon could taste the spicy flavor of the drink on Malcolm and Malcolm sucked on Jon's bottom lip, his tongue dancing across it, soft and slow, the way Jon liked it.

Jon moved his hands through Malcolm's hair, then down his back, caressing him and Malcolm reacted without thought, moving his hands down Jon's chest, his fingertips gently brushing the peaked nipples beneath Jon's shirt. Jon felt his cock stiffen immediately and Malcolm ground into him brazenly.

When Jon pulled back for a breath he looked into his lover's eyes. Malcolm's pupils were mere pinpoints even in the low lighting of this corner table, the blue-grey irises seemingly enormous now. Malcolm stared at him with a predatory force that made Jon shiver slightly in anticipation.

"Damn good thing you two have a room," Trip said, eyes wide and an odd expression on his face.

Jon glanced at his former lover and recognized that look.

Trip was turned on.

Jon thought that was interesting.

He whispered in Malcolm's ear, and his lover hesitated, Jon seeing the confusion and reluctance on Malcolm's face.

"Please? For me?" Jon asked, trying not to hold his breath, a brief flare of panic at the remembered words of the bartender. Malcolm loved him. He wouldn't refuse. Would he?

His beloved smiled. "Anything for you, Jon."

Malcolm stood and held still for a fraction of a moment, then moved with his customary grace towards Trip. He smiled shyly and then straddled Trip, lowering himself down upon his friend.

"Malcolm -" Trip began, but Malcolm cut him off with a bashful kiss, gentle and tentative.

Trip moaned and brought his arms up, hands gripping Malcolm's shoulders and dragging him closer. Trip kissed his friend with an uncontrollable fervor and was delighted when Malcolm responded with equal ardor. He couldn't believe that this was finally happening, at last.

Trip's surroundings disappeared as he lost himself in the taste of his friend, his hands zealously exploring Malcolm, the man's arms, his back. Trip slid his hands over that finely muscled chest and those solid thighs. He let his hands rove down Malcolm's stomach, and then glided one hand down lower.

Trip almost lost it when Malcolm embraced him and then caressed him with surprisingly gentle touch, an acute contrast to the enthusiasm his lips were displaying.

"Come here, Malcolm," Jon said with a chuckle and Trip opened his eyes, groaning as Malcolm pulled away and stood, giving Trip one last soft and lingering kiss.

Jon rose and took Malcolm's hand, tugging him close.

Trip sat there, panting, dazed; painfully erect and body thrumming. He wondered vaguely what the hell just happened, but the memory of Malcolm's hard torso under his fingers and Malcolm's warm lips and savory mouth under Trip's own chased any speculation away. Trip watched as Jon nuzzled Malcolm, rubbing the man's neck, stroking up and behind his ears. He saw Malcolm close his eyes in pure enjoyment of his lover's attention.

"Thank you," Jon murmured.

"My pleasure, Jon," Malcolm replied, then slowly opened his eyes to look at Trip. "Definitely my pleasure." He gave Trip a small self-conscious smile.

Jon caught the side of Malcolm's face to turn his head away from Trip, snaring his beloved's lips. Jon kissed him gently and Malcolm sighed, leaning into him, kissing him back.

"I think they're about ready to close," Jon said as he continued to pet Malcolm. "Let's go back."

Malcolm smiled at Jon. "Sounds perfect, love," he replied, his voice low and soft. Jon's breath hitched involuntarily as Malcolm stared at him. Jon could see that heat and dominating look in his cherished one's eyes, that exceptional intensity that always emerged when they returned unscathed from a mission gone awry.

Jon rubbed against Malcolm, still hard and erect, and was pleased to feel an answering rigidity as Malcolm ground his hips into Jon.

Jon's hand traveled down to Malcolm's ass and pulled him nearer.

"Jesus, Jon. Are you gonna fuck each other right here?" Trip asked, his tone querulous. But he was staring at Malcolm with a ferocity that Jon resented.

Malcolm chuckled and withdrew, kissing Jon once more. "I think we'll be more comfortable in the privacy of our room," he said and turned toward Trip. "Are you ready to leave, Mr. Tucker?" he asked with a slight smile and offered his hand to Trip to help him up.

Jon wrapped a possessive arm around Malcolm's waist as Trip accepted Malcolm's assistance.

Trip stood, rocking a little, and waited for his balance to reassert itself. "Whoa. Think I had a little too much."

Jon laughed. "I know how you feel. They serve some damn good drinks here."

Jon tugged Malcolm a bit closer to him as they wove their way through the bar and out the door.

By the time they made it to their hotel, Malcolm was swaying and they were supporting Malcolm between them, the three of them giggling over a joke Jon had just told. Trip noticed that although Malcolm wasn't slurring, he was animated, again exposing that buoyant attitude he had displayed when they killed that bottle of bourbon on the shuttlepod. Malcolm's coordination was off and something tickled at the back of Trip's alcohol hazed mind as he studied his friend, but he let it go, too busy trying to keep his feelings carefully hidden as usual. Although he did allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of Malcolm's warm body pressed against him, the scent of the man, and the lingering memory of Malcolm's mouth and total attention upon him.

***

Malcolm propped himself up against the front desk, loose limbed and foggy as he waited for their room key. The woman behind the counter was flirting with Trip and Trip was flirting back with a passion.

Malcolm tried to remember how many drinks he'd had, feeling as if he'd polished off a bottle or two of tequila. He liked feeling this way, but then again, he didn't, which is why he hadn't done it in ages. He loved the incredibly heady feeling of being reckless, not giving a damn, not bound by any rules. But he didn't like losing control and that's what always happened when he drank too much. He drank, got happy, and then did incredibly stupid things.

Like thinking about Trip.

Thank God Jon was here.

He loved Jon.

He truly did. He had fallen madly for their Captain, against his better judgment, against all his ingrain resistance, against all his beliefs about fraternization, especially with superior officers. But Jon loved him, no matter what, no matter how badly he screwed up. And Jon was so open with his emotions, always letting him know that he was loved.

He wouldn't hurt Jon for anything in the world.

But Jon liked it rough sometimes. And Malcolm knew that Jon had deliberately tried to goad him into it on occasion. He didn't like being manipulated. He was aware of Jon's propensity to exploit uncertain circumstances, trying to provoke Malcolm into releasing that emotion he'd bottle during a tense situation. And Malcolm knew that he transferred that repression necessary to focus on insuring the safety of his crewmates during a crisis into a furious sexual outburst afterwards.

Malcolm hated that side of himself, that explosive Reed temperament, where caution and control flew out the window.

If you love someone, you don't hurt them.

Malcolm tried to focus on his lover's face as Jon, amused by Trip's antics, waited for their key patiently. The room was careening in a twisted kaleidoscope of colors and textures and he closed his eyes, his thoughts on Jon.

The woman finally handed Jon their key.

"See you in the morning, Trip," Jon said and put his arm around Malcolm's shoulders. Malcolm opened his eyes.

"'Night, Trip," Malcolm said quietly and rested against Jon, wrapping his arm around his lover to support himself.

Trip pulled his attention away from the woman to respond. "Night," he said, and hesitated, looking at Malcolm.

Trip was pretty hazy himself, but he thought that Malcolm looked downright wasted. Paler than usual, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils mere specks.

"You okay, Malcolm?" he asked with concern. It looked like Jon was holding him up.

Malcolm grinned widely at him. "Just tits over arse and randy as hell."

Jon laughed, ruffling his lover's hair. "Don't worry, Malcolm. I'll take care of you," he winked at Trip and planted a kiss on Malcolm.

"You always do, love," Malcolm replied with a rueful smile, Jon's lips sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He let Jon lead him away to their room, all former contemplations forgotten, the perception of his lover's hands and body filling his senses, and the anticipation of making love the only thing on his mind now.

Trip's thoughts of his friend disappeared when the woman handed him his key with a seductive smile and told him that she had just gotten off work.

***

Jon locked the door behind them and pulled off Malcolm's shirt. He attacked his lover's mouth and felt Malcolm react with a hunger that enthralled Jon.

His hands roamed his beloved's body, feeling the man's erection straining, tightly contained in those rough leather pants. They were the same ones from their mishap with the Katheki, the aliens who had forced Jon to watch as Malcolm was hunted by both men and huge hound-like creatures.

Jon had been horror-struck. Enraged. Afraid for his beloved. And helpless.

But the sight of Malcolm being dragged to the starting area, a leather collar around his neck, a leash attached and in the hands of a burly clansman, his lover's wrists bound tightly with thin leather straps, had also excited Jon.

Jon fondled Malcolm's cock, and Malcolm moaned into Jon's mouth. Jon teased his beloved, nipping at the man's neck, his collarbone, working his way down to his nipples, then kneeling, holding Malcolm's hips in a tight embrace and playing his mouth over Malcolm's crotch.

Malcolm's fingers dug into Jon's shoulders, clinging tightly, staggering under the magnitude of the sheer sensation of his lover's mouth.

Jon slowly stripped the leather pants down past Malcolm's hips, then removed them completely. He stood, and Malcolm groaned, opening his eyes and frantically tearing at Jon's shirt, trying to kiss Jon everywhere at once.

Jon chuckled and backed away, keeping Malcolm at arm's length. The frustration and urgency in his beloved's expression nearly undid Jon, but he stuck to his plans.

"Come here," Jon said and reached out for Malcolm's hand. Malcolm stumbled forward, and Jon caught him, then maneuvered him into the bathroom and started the shower.

Jon washed Malcolm, touching him, teasing him, his hands and lips inciting Malcolm into a frenzy, not allowing Malcolm to reciprocate in any way. He soaped up his fingers and insinuated them, one at a time, inside Malcolm, stretching, moving, his other hand busy with Malcolm's cock.

The sounds Malcolm made electrified Jon. Malcolm was usually so quiet when making love. Except on those occasions when an away mission had gone wrong.

Jon stopped just as Malcolm was ready to come. His beloved let out a cry of frustration and Jon laughed, then rinsed them and shut the water off. Malcolm pulled him out of the shower, grabbing their towels and flinging one at Jon, barely drying himself before pushing up against his lover and attacking him roughly.

"Wait for it, Malcolm," Jon chuckled and backed away.

"Bastard," Malcolm said, half in jest and Jon grinned at him.

Jon walked out and Malcolm followed, weaving unsteadily. He pushed Jon down upon the bed and kissed him once, then trailed his mouth downwards, suddenly pouncing upon Jon's hard cock. It was his turn to tease his lover.

Jon shoved him away at the last moment, exercising all of his willpower not to come. Panting, light headed and a fine sheen of sweat covering his body, he stood up.

"Lay down. I want to do something new."

Malcolm smirked at him and laid back. His head was spinning, but he liked it. He felt wonderful and energized, as if he could fuck all night and never stop. He tried to will away the fog clouding him, but gave up, not caring.

"Close your eyes," Jon ordered and Malcolm smiled again and obeyed.

A few minutes later he felt Jon put something around his wrists and his eyes snapped open.

Black leather bindings.

"Jon—" Malcolm started, sitting up and pulling his hands away.

"Please, Malcolm. For me?"

Jon knew he hated to be restrained. He had told Jon that, not explaining, just refusing. And he thought Jon had accepted that.

It went against every cautious and wary instinct he possessed. But Jon didn't know his only bondage experience had occurred when he was young, and it had been awful. He had never allowed it to happen again.

"For me, Malcolm?" Jon asked again, low and intent.

"Jon…" Malcolm said again and stopped, the distress clear on his face.

"Please?" Jon felt that panic again. What if Malcolm didn't love him as much as he had assumed? He thought he had Malcolm's total devotion.

Malcolm stared at Jon and closed his eyes. He sank back onto the bed and mutely held out his wrists, trembling slightly and hands clenched.

Jon exhaled in relief. His cherished one had proven himself again. He rapidly bound Malcolm's wrists, snapping the bindings in place, and then pulled Malcolm's arms above his head and attached them to the barred headboard.

"Thank you, Malcolm," Jon breathed, and kissed his lover tenderly. "Relax. Trust me."

"I do, Jon," Malcolm whispered, his voice shaking slightly.

Jon stroked his hair, and then attached the collar around Malcolm's neck, keeping the leash in his hand. Malcolm turned his face toward the wall, eyes still closed.

"What's wrong?" Jon asked, concerned by Malcolm's tensed frame.

"I don't like this," Malcolm replied.

"Why?" When Malcolm hesitated, Jon insisted. "You can tell me anything, Malcolm. I love you, you know that."

Malcolm did know that. And he couldn't help himself. He felt as if he couldn't refuse Jon anything at this moment. "When I was sixteen, I got drunk down at the local, picked up a woman twice my age and went back to her place. She tied me up and we fucked."

"Sixteen?" Jon asked, amused.

Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at him. "I started young," he said sardonically.

Jon smiled and kissed him. "So. You didn't like it?"

Malcolm stared at him. "I liked it. Until her boyfriend came in." He looked away again. "I couldn't escape and I was scared to death. He came over and kissed me. Then he sucked me off."

Jon continued to stroke through Malcolm's hair. "And?" he asked gently.

"And then he broke my nose, as well as a couple of ribs for good measure. Pitched me out onto the street, naked. I was so drunk and hurt so much that it took me forever to get home." Malcolm swallowed and turn back to look Jon in the eyes.

"A week later my father received a couple of photos in the post. Of his son, tied up and arse naked being sucked off by an anonymous man. He tossed me out. Took mum three months to convince him to let me come home. Didn't exactly help my relationship with my parents."

Jon murmured comfortingly, still stroking Malcolm. "I love you. You're priceless to me, Malcolm. I'll always love you. I'll never reject you, never. You know that, don't you? I cherish you, Malcolm. No matter what."

Malcolm knew it and was warmed by his lover's words. Jon had never pressed him to open up, unlike his previous lovers. Jon always forgave him, his moods, his mistakes, his inability to express his feelings properly. Jon had always loved him. No matter what. Another reason why he'd do almost anything for the man.

Malcolm suddenly grinned, a startling contrast to his previous demeanor. "At least I got to kick around the continent for three months, carousing, fucking, and doing the most stunningly idiotic things imaginable." He strained upwards to kiss Jon, and Jon laughed, surprised by his lover's abrupt turn, the additional information he had imparted. In all their time together, Malcolm had never spoken of his family. Or his past.

"I love you, Malcolm. You know I won't hurt you," Jon whispered, stroking the leather binding his lover's wrists.

"I know, Jon," Malcolm answered quietly and Jon set about teasing Malcolm again.

***

Jon woke with a start at the sound of his communicator chirping. He rolled over, feeling unexpectedly alert and refreshed. He opened it, and listened to Hoshi's replacement tell him that the planet's governmental representatives would like to meet again within the hour. Jon told the ensign he'd be there. Jon closed the channel and looked at his lover.

Malcolm was still out, limp and dead to the world. Jon smiled and kissed his beloved gently, running his hand up Malcolm's warm naked back and to the nape of his neck, then stopping to rub him behind his ears. Jon chuckled when Malcolm didn't stir. It wasn't often that Jon could wear his cherished one out so thoroughly. Jon kissed him again, listening to Malcolm's slow and even breathing, then winced a little as he saw the bruises marring his lover's wrists, the bite marks and contusions on his lover's skin. There were a few scratches on his back, but Jon knew that he himself had quite a few scratches and bruises as well. Last night had been intense.

Jon had pushed it to the limit, testing, his faith in the kiltoch demonstrated again and again as he asked Malcolm to comply with different requests.

Jon had aroused Malcolm to a frenzy, not letting his lover climax, yanking on the leash each time he came close. Jon finally rolled Malcolm on his stomach and lubed him, then plunged into Malcolm, hard and fast, whispering to him that this is how he wanted Malcolm to take him, only harsher.

Malcolm's hands were still bound and he had tried to meet Jon thrust for thrust, but his lover's weight bore down upon him, pinning him, his arms unable to provide him any leverage. But Malcolm hadn't felt any concern, any fear. He felt only pleasure, a sublime ecstasy throughout his body with every touch, every kiss, every movement. He could feel Jon's love, his desire, his want and need. And Malcolm enjoyed that power. Being the one whom Jon loved.

Malcolm had been willing to do anything Jon wanted.

And Jon took advantage of that.

Jon had come with one last hot thrust, Malcolm crying out, muscles clenching tightly around Jon. Jon had yanked on the leash once more, jerking Malcolm's head back, nearly strangling him. But Malcolm didn't mind. He could feel Jon's excitement, and when Jon finally caught his breath, Malcolm almost passed out when his lover proceeded to rim him with his tongue.

Jon thrilled to Malcolm's incoherent vocalizations, Malcolm's body writhing against him, urging him deeper. Jon kept his grip tight around the base of Malcolm's cock, preventing his beloved from coming.

Jon could taste himself, blended with Malcolm's musky essence and he rejoiced in the fact that Malcolm, who had never allowed him to do this, was completely out of control.

Jon enjoyed that power over his lover.

When Jon finally released the bindings from the headboard, Malcolm had thrown Jon down upon the bed. Inflamed and stimulated beyond the capacity to think clearly, Malcolm had lubed Jon, inserting one finger at a time, Jon begging for more until Malcolm had stretched him wide, his slender hand almost completely inside his lover. Malcolm grabbed Jon's still hard cock and was stroking it in rhythm with the movements of his fingers, the black ribbons of leather trailing across Jon.

Malcolm slowly withdrew, leaving Jon gasping in disappointment.

"What do you want, Malcolm?" Jon whispered.

"To fuck you raw," he replied, knowing that Jon liked it when he spoke crudely, knowing that Jon wanted it hard and rough.

And Malcolm did what Jon wanted, head reeling and his surroundings contorting in a wild jumble. He relinquished his control, reveling in it, all inhibitions and thoughts of being careful and gentle swept away. His fingers dug into Jon's firm flesh, leaving marks. Malcolm used his teeth at Jon's urging, he ran his nails down his lover's body, and he slammed into Jon without restraint.

Jon actually howled when he came again and Malcolm orgasmed in a dynamic burst in response, hoarsely screaming as well. Malcolm collapsed upon his lover, shaking and panting, sweating rivers and Jon petted him with a loving hand.

Malcolm eventually dragged himself from Jon's embrace, staggering to the bathroom to fulfill his ritual of cleaning his lover. He fumbled about, the room whirling and barely able to stand while washing the sweat and fluids from him. He finally managed to make it back to the bed, gently cleansing a semi-somnolent Jon and he tossed the towels aside before passing out on his lover's broad chest.

Jon looked down at his sleeping lover, his grin lecherous and his cock hard from the memories of last night. But duty called, and with one last kiss, Jon rose and got ready for his meeting.

***

Trip was feeling wonderful. He wasn't even embarrassed when Jon came knocking on his door and found the woman from the front desk still in his bed. They merely exchanged knowing smiles and Jon gave Trip his room key, asking him to check on Malcolm in a little while, that Jon had to meet with the governmental reps again.

Trip could see the energy in Jon's demeanor, the satiation and contentment in his ex-lover's handsome face and boyish grin. Trip felt that tug of attraction again, but it was easy to put aside.

But the memory of last night, of kissing and touching Malcolm, wasn't as easy to banish.

Trip enjoyed another slow bout of love making after Jon left, and when the woman departed, kisses exchanged and goodbyes said, Trip showered, thinking.

He had cried her name out loud when he climaxed, but it had been Malcolm's name echoing in his head.

***

Trip let himself into Jon's room and was greeted by the sound of Malcolm retching violently.

He rushed to the bathroom to see Malcolm heaving painfully into the toilet, clad only in a loose pair of cotton pants. Malcolm vomited again, bringing forth a stream of black liquid. He barely inhaled a gasping breath before he threw up once more.

"Gawd, Malcolm! Are you okay?" Trip grabbed him by the shoulders as Malcolm retched again.

"Jesus, you're burning up," Trip exclaimed and seized a towel, wetting it and then wiping Malcolm down. Malcolm continued to heave, gagging and choking, and Trip held his shuddering body.

Trip lost track of time as he held his friend, swabbing away the sweat and trying to cool him down. Malcolm continued to vomit until he was hit with an agonizing round of dry heaving.

When Malcolm finally finished, Trip wiped his face, letting Malcolm slump against him, holding his friend in a gentle embrace.

Malcolm almost fell asleep, so Trip helped him to the bed, half carrying him. Malcolm tumbled into it and groaned.

"Christ, my head. I must have drank too much," Malcolm slurred, his eyes tightly closed.

That thought that had been tickling at the back of Trip's mind last night asserted itself.

"Malcolm, you basically only had one drink," Trip said slowly.

Malcolm squinted at him skeptically out of one bloodshot eye. "This," and he waved a hand vaguely encompassing everything, "doesn't feel like one drink." He shook his head and then winced at the pain. "This feels like a bender of epic proportions."

"I swear, Malcolm. You didn't even finish your first one. That second one, the black one, is the only thing you drank last night."

"Then why am I still drunk and trying to eject my abused liver via my alimentary canal?" Malcolm asked wryly and Trip chuckled.

"I dunno. Lightweight?" Trip teased and Malcolm made an obscene gesture before closing his eyes again.

Trip tenderly brushed the sweat-matted hair from Malcolm's forehead, frowning at the heat of his friend's skin.

"Maybe you caught a virus, or you're havin' an allergic reaction to somethin' here," Trip said, his accent thickening with concern.

"Doesn't feel that way—" Malcolm started, then gagged again. Trip hauled him up and grabbed what he assumed was the trash can and held it in front of his friend. Malcolm dry heaved for several long minutes and finally flopped back down on the bed.

"Shoot me now, please," Malcolm mumbled.

Trip swiped the cold toweling down Malcolm's fevered torso again then placed it on his forehead. "Can't. Jon would kill me." Trip withdrew his communicator. Phlox and Cutler were on the other side of the planet, participating in a medical exchange. He called Jon.

Trip told him that Malcolm was sick, detailing Malcolm's symptoms. Trip heard voices on the other end and Jon told him to stand by and cut the comm.

"Feels like I've been doing sit-ups nonstop for a week," Malcolm said muzzily into the silence.

"Well, that's what happens when you puke your guts out," Trip replied. He then placed his hand on Malcolm's stomach and began to rub it.

Malcolm sighed, his eyes still closed. "Feels nice," he murmured.

Trip thought it felt nice too. He lightly massaged Malcolm's sore muscles, enjoying the feel of Malcolm's skin under his hand, the tautness of the man's belly, the novel feeling of that light sprinkling of fine hairs. Most men Trip had been with had more hair on their bodies. But Malcolm was smooth. His skin was soft, but there was a sinewy hardness underneath it, firm and wiry. Trip liked it very much.

Trip started guiltily when his communicator chirped. He snatched his hand away and Malcolm let out a weak curse of disappointment and pain at the sudden sound.

"Tucker here."

"Trip, it's me. I've talked to some of the representatives. Malcolm's okay. It's just a reaction to one of the ingredients in that drink last night. There's nothing anyone can do about it and it's not life threatening. He's just gonna have to ride it out. Do me a favor and stay with him, okay? I'll come back as soon as I can."

"No problem, Cap'n. I'll look after him."

"Thanks, Trip. Archer out."

Jon closed his communicator and nodded his thanks to the representative in front of him. Jon had a good rapport with the man and his concern about his lover led Jon to confess to the use of the kiltoch. The rep had smiled with understanding, nodding his approval. He didn't think it was that, especially since a professional had mixed the drink and dispensed the kiltoch, but had inquired about the dosage, as well as the size and weight of Jon's lover in any case.

Jon was very surprised to hear that the bartender had overdosed the drink. But when the rep said that the dosage Malcolm received would be for someone roughly Jon's size, it clicked. The bartender's comments about colorings and forms, his glances at their table.

Jon realized that the bartender had thought that Trip was his lover. And had mixed the drink accordingly.

However, before going back into their meeting, Jon did find out exactly how much kiltoch to use in the future.

***

Trip held Malcolm as he alternated between retching and dry heaving throughout the remainder of the morning. He continued to try to cool Malcolm down, at one point dragging him into a cold shower to lower his body temperature when Trip thought his friend felt much too hot. Malcolm didn't even protest as he let Trip support him under the chilly spray, shivering and leaning against the engineer. He let Trip strip off his soaking trousers and slip on another pair, mostly out of it and still feeling too inebriated to object.

Trip tucked him in to the bed, the fever finally broken, laughing as Malcolm rambled on a drunken monologue. He thought Malcolm was quite funny and charming when he wasn't uptight, and his friend definitely wasn't uptight right now.

"Bloody hell, now I'm freezing," Malcolm complained, his teeth chattering and shivering uncontrollably.

"Guess I should share body heat with ya," Trip said lightly as he burrowed under the blankets and spooned against Malcolm's back, pulling the man close and wrapping his arms around him.

"Why didn't we think of this on that bloody pod?" Malcolm muttered, wriggling back against Trip, scooting down and nestling his head to rest against Trip's shoulder.

"I dunno, guess we were too drunk to think clearly," Trip replied with a chuckle.

"I'm too drunk to think clearly, and I thought about it just now," Malcolm retorted, his words still tumbling into each other, his accent thick and lazy. He twisted and looked over his shoulder at Trip and Trip stared into those half-mast grey eyes, the pupils still meager dots of black. He could smell that delicious spicy scent from the drink on Malcolm's breath. Malcolm's hair was damp from the shower and unruly, several strands falling over his forehead, his face pale but relaxed.

Trip refrained from kissing Malcolm as he had done last night, the memory taking on a surreal quality now in the light of day. "Sleep it off, Malcolm," he said tenderly instead, using the last of his considerable resolve to ignore how much he wanted this man.

Malcolm turned back around and Trip felt Malcolm's lashes brush against his inner arm as he closed his eyes. "I love Jon, despite his Machiavellian nature. But you're my best friend, Trip," Malcolm mumbled.

Trip listened to Malcolm's breathing become steady, and he held him close, still amused by Malcolm's steadfast display of his classical education.

When he was sure Malcolm was asleep, he gave into temptation and kissed the nape of the man's neck. Just once. Trip closed his eyes, tired, not caring if Jon walked in.

Before Trip drifted off he thought about what he had found in the dresser drawer while looking for a pair of pants for Malcolm. He had uncovered a small vial of black liquid haphazardly tucked under one of Jon's shirts. And when Trip had opened it, he smelled that spicy scent which was still on Malcolm's breath, and which Trip had tasted on Malcolm's lips last night.