Maneuvers

Jon knew Malcolm would die for him. But he had often wondered if he would kill for him.

Jon gazed at his subdued lover. Malcolm's uniform was drenched with the garish sunset colored blood of the three aliens they had encountered. He could tell Malcolm was disturbed, upset, even though the armory officer's face was expressionless. Jon could tell by the complete stillness in which Malcolm held himself as he sat on the bench, staring blankly at the floor of the shuttlepod.

Jon had sworn to himself that he wouldn't endanger his beloved's life again by being reckless. And he hadn't been this time; everything had just happened so quickly.

Their relationship had survived close to two years of Jon's subtle and perverse compulsion to manipulate the younger man. But Jon couldn't help himself. He felt a strange need—a hunger—to wind up his beloved as tightly as possible, setting the man on edge, and then watching him react.

He had always liked watching. He'd always liked subtly pulling strings, the master puppeteer slyly maneuvering people. It was in part how he had gotten his command; attracting Admiral Forrest's attention and weaving his way into the Admiral's friendship. It was an honest bond nevertheless, regardless of the deliberate beginnings. Jon always made it real, because he truly felt it. There wasn't a single malicious bone in Jon's body.

He just knew how to use his talents to his advantage and there was nothing wrong with that.

That's how he and Trip had gotten together in the first place; Jon watching him, befriending him, then finally guiding Trip into admitting his attraction to Jon.

Their relationship had ended after a year, the men much too alike to sustain a sexual heat, but their friendship remained close. Jon had always been a very likable person.

However, with Malcolm, the heat was there—especially those rare times when Malcolm really let go and fucked Jon with an animalistic fury.

Sometimes things just moved too fast and the circumstances spun out of control. But, sometimes, Jon had to steer Malcolm into it. Get him keyed up and on that wire-thin edge. He trusted Malcolm to do his job and get them out alive.

And no one had been hurt yet.

The more dangerous the situation, the closer the call, the better the sex. Jon looked forward to those times, and he admitted with shame that he had once, maybe twice…three times at most, really, allowed events to degrade so that he could reap the sexual benefits.

On those occasions Jon would come like a 17-year-old—explosively, multiple times, pleasure drumming throughout his body, Malcolm relentless in his driving need.

And Jon would savor it, lying there, Malcolm pounding into him, Jon pushing back just as hard, both making incoherent sounds, sweating with effort.

He would be stretched and filled by his beloved, to the point of bursting and then Malcolm, in a frenzy and barely controlled, would try to split him in two. Jon would meet him, thrust for thrust and then come with a cry, his orgasm lasting for an eternity. Jon would hear that rare sound issuing from his lover's throat, feel Malcolm's warmth flow into him, and Malcolm would collapse upon him, still within him. Jon would put his arms around that hard slick body, feel their hearts hammering in concert, feel his own sticky come between their bellies and he'd roll Malcolm's comforting weigh off him, pushing his lover onto his back, then lap his own seed off of Malcolm's stomach.

He liked to taste himself, mingled with the flavor of his lover's body. Jon would lick off every trace of his essence and then, excited and hard again, enter Malcolm's delectable tightness.

Jon would make slow and gentle love to Malcolm, watching his beloved's face. Watching those expressive and compelling eyes, the desire and passion not yet spent. Jon would rub his larger frame over his lover's body, feeling his beloved, Malcolm's muscles rigid and solid, trembling with the tension of the pleasure Jon was giving him. Jon's easy and constant rhythm, Malcolm's body contracting around him, would set Jon off again, and he'd find release once more.

Heart pounding and sweat pouring off him, Jon would tumble to the bed, arms quivering too much to hold himself up any longer. He'd lay there, face down and winded, lightheaded and his body completely limp. Malcolm would take him again, only this time with a tenderness and delicacy that was a far different kind of pleasure, a purer type of love that Jon couldn't quite define.

But Jon could tell how Malcolm felt about him, how much the man loved him, by that soothing and leisurely lovemaking. Jon would feel Malcolm come again and Jon's ass would have its own orgasm, Jon amazed by the feeling deep within his stomach, the force of the contractions he'd experience.

Malcolm would lay on Jon's broad back, panting and shivering, then after a few minutes drag himself upright, and head for the bathroom. He'd return and lovingly wash his lover off, wiping him down, cleansing him.

Jon would revel in the utter slackness of his own limbs, being tended to with such adoration and care.

Malcolm would disappear again, and Jon would doze briefly, until Malcolm returned, slightly damp from the shower. Jon would inhale Malcolm's clean scent as his lover crawled into bed, kissing Jon with a heartfelt gratitude and love.

Jon would pull Malcolm onto his chest, holding his beloved close, basking in his reassuring body heat. It always amused Jon that Malcolm would fall deeply asleep within moments.

He figured the tension and the pent up emotion of those ill-fated missions, not to mention their furious lovemaking, wore his younger lover out.

But he had vowed never to do it again, that it was too dangerous a game to play with the lives of his crew, the life of his cherished one.

And he hadn't done it. Not today. A routine mission had met the unknown and had just fallen apart.

He glanced at Malcolm again, and Malcolm looked up, as if feeling the eyes of the man he loved upon him. Jon could see an empty numbness in them mixed with distress and Malcolm's perpetual "what if". "What if" someone got hurt? "What if" someone got killed? "What if" he failed?

"What if" something happened to Jon?

Malcolm leaned back wearily against the wall and closed his eyes, and Jon couldn't see what his lover was thinking anymore.

Jon reflected that sometimes Malcolm's eyes were too expressive.

He was fairly sure he had seen a look of disappointment in them before Malcolm closed them.

But he had his answer.

***

Trip enjoyed watching as well, realizing early in Enterprise's mission that his former lover was attracted to their armory officer. He watched Jon, admiring the Captain's mastery of the slow art of seduction.

Trip wondered if Jon realized that Malcolm had discerned Jon's intentions and methods from the beginning and had allowed it to happen.

However, he wondered if Malcolm knew what else Jon had been doing. Trip had seen Jon make some mistakes in the past year, errors that were unlike him. Jon was usually shrewder than that. A few months ago Trip had a nice long talk with him and pointed out a few things. Jon had denied it at first, but Trip knew him all too well.

He loved the man, as a friend, as a former lover. Trip only wanted to help and Jon finally confessed that he hadn't meant to let things get out of hand.

And that's what worried Trip. This time they'd been lucky. Again. But next time they might not be, and he didn't want to see anyone pay the price for Jon's desire.

He knew what Jon was doing. He wondered if Jon knew he was still doing it.

He piloted the shuttle back to Enterprise, Dr. Phlox meeting them. He scanned the three of them, pronounced them healthy and insisted Malcolm spend time in decon. He was the only one who had come into contact with the alien species' blood.

When Malcolm didn't protest, didn't even make a sound, Trip scrutinized his friend. He was a too pale, eye dilated and lackluster. Trip thought he looked depleted and didn't think it was all physical. Trip decided it was time to talk to Jon again.

***

Trip followed Jon to his room, seeking the privacy of his friend's quarters. They didn't speak as they walked along the corridors, both men tired.

Jon grabbed a beer and handed another to Trip and they made themselves comfortable.

"That didn't go well," Jon commented with a sigh.

"No. It didn't." Trip's tone was sardonic, and faintly accusing.

"I know what you're thinking, Trip. I didn't do anything! How could we have known they were there? They didn't register on our sensors. I swear to you, I haven't been trying to screw things up on purpose just to get Malcolm going." Jon's grew less defensive and his whole manner became sincere.

"When you pointed out to me what I was doing, how I was making bad calls, why I was messing up…well, you know I was appalled. I'd never do anything to hurt Malcolm—you know that. And you know I appreciated you telling me, I know how hard it was for you. But today just happened. No one could have known…"

"Jon," Trip began and then stopped. Jon truly believed he hadn't done anything. And maybe Trip was wrong. They had surprised the aliens; the away team didn't know they were there.

"You could have been killed, you know," Trip said softly instead. "He could have been killed."

Trip saw the pain of that knowledge in Jon's eyes. Yes, he knew. And it weighed heavily on him.

"Trip, we're out here to explore. To meet new people. You can't do that without trying to talk to them."

"You don't have to walk right up to them without knowing anythin' about 'em first though!"

Jon was taken back by Trip vehemence. He started to argue back, but Trip cut him off.

"What's wrong with waitin' and watchin' a few minutes, contacting the ship and seein' if the database has any information? What's wrong with just waiting, Jon? You didn't have to break cover and walk right up to them and try to start a conversation. Jesus, Jon, you saw their weapons!"

"We were armed as well! You can't—"

"Christ, Jon! Our weapons didn't do a goddamn thing to them! Not even the kill setting!"

"How could we have known that? Besides, you can't judge a person by what he carries for self-defense. We're out here to discover things, Trip. And we'll always run into hostile species, but I won't pre- judge people by the way they look, or if they carry weapons…"

"A little caution wouldn't hurt!" Trip raised his voice, trying to get through to him.

"Damn it, Trip! You sound like him!" Jon replied angrily.

"You could have gotten him killed! You could have gotten us all killed!" Trip inhaled deeply, trying to reign in his temper. He took another tack.

"Did you know Malcolm's never killed anyone? Until today? Did you know that, Jon?"

"What?" Jon asked in surprise. "What about when we fire at another ship? What do you think happens?"

"No, I mean one on one, face to face. Shootin' at another ship is different somehow, cleaner, you don't see the bodies, you know? Sanitized. And he always tries to only disable 'em anyhow…"

"But I thought —"

"You just assumed he's killed people before?" Trip asked dryly.

"Well…" Yes. The way his lover fought, the way the man moved, the anticipation and glee of blowing shit up.

"Nope. Why do you think he designed the phase pistol the way he did? With the old model, you could kill someone even on the stun setting, if you hit them just right. He didn't like that. Didn't want that on anyone's conscious if you killed someone by mistake. And today, because of you, he killed three people."

***

The atmosphere on the planet was breathable, for humans. Clearly not for the aliens they had encountered, however.

The three Enterprise officers had been taking scans and samples in a heavily wooded area, the other away teams strung out at different landing sites, when Trip had noticed a movement in the distance. He was surprised to see three figures, clad apparently in their version of EV suits, green and tightly clinging to their thin, elongated bodies. The odd oblong bubble-shaped helmets protected their heads, which were shaped very much like that of a hammerhead shark. One was hundreds of meters ahead of the other two but all were armed with something that looked like an unholy cross between a sword and a rifle, sharp and lethal looking.

Trip nudged Jon and Malcolm swiftly appeared at his Captain's side, signing to remain quiet and tugging the two of them behind the trunk of one of the enormous trees.

Trip and Malcolm were surreptitiously scanning the newcomers when Jon stepped out from behind their safe haven and called out, greeting them and introducing himself.

The look of utter astonishment and disbelief on Malcolm's face would have made Trip laugh if he hadn't been sure that his face held an identical look.

The one in the lead pulled his weapon up and aimed at Jon when Malcolm darted out and pulled his lover back around the tree. Chunks of bark flew like shrapnel as the alien discharged his weapon. Malcolm returned fire, hitting the man.

It had no effect.

The alien continued to shoot at the away team, the other two now running toward their position, their long legs eating up the distance at a surprising pace. Malcolm returned fire and then thumbed the pistol to kill.

The beam still had no effect.

"Run!" Malcolm hissed and charged the closest one, going in low and tackling the being by its fragile looking legs. Trip heard a sound, like a twig snapping and the alien cried out a high pitched whirring sound. He grabbed at Malcolm and the armory officer slithered away, eyes frantic, and he yelled to his crewmates to run again.

The other two aliens began to shoot and Jon yanked Trip back behind the tree, telling him to fire in concert with him. Trip poked his head around the trunk to aim and heard another cracking sound.

Malcolm wrenched the alien's weapon from the man's grasp and the alien's arm bent at a horrible angle, his high pitch vocalizations louder now. The other two aliens fired at Malcolm and he rolled away, desperately scrabbling at the foreign gun, trying to find the triggering mechanism. The two were within meters of Malcolm, and they raised their weapons, intent on using the blade end. On his back and adrenaline charged, Malcolm aimed and fired, eyes wide and knuckles white, and hit one of them.

The alien exploded, its suit breached, apparently depressurizing.

His blood, as well as pieces of flesh and organs, went flying and Trip could see the shock and horror on Malcolm's face as he was splattered with the gore.

Malcolm fired again and the second alien exploded as well.

It had taken less than five seconds but seemed so much longer to Trip.

Malcolm scrambled to his knees, breathing heavily and shaking, that beautiful purple-red fluid dripping off him. He brushed away a green fragment of the alien EV suit and gagged when something wet and fleshly fell out of it.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, looked briefly at the wounded alien, then turned to check on Jon and Trip.

Jon and Trip rose to their feet, still safe behind their refuge, and Malcolm looked over again at the surviving alien.

The man was sitting up and was bringing a small pistol to bear on Malcolm.

Malcolm shot him without hesitation, and closed his eyes as the EV suit exploded, its contents raining down upon him.

***

"I swear Trip, I didn't try to wind him up. We're out here to talk to people, to meet new races." He sighed and glanced at his clock. "But if we run in to a similar situation…I'll wait, okay?"

Trip studied his former lover.

He believed him. Jon was an explorer. He met new species with no prejudices, no pre-formed opinion. Met them with friendship and hope. And you couldn't foresee how people would react.

"Good enough," Trip replied and nodded. He looked at the clock as well. "Malcolm should be out of decon. I suppose you want to go see him."

"Yeah. In light of what you told me, I think it might be a little rough for him."

Jon hadn't liked that still silence and it worried him.

"Well, you better go meet him. I'll let myself out."

Jon nodded and left.

Trip finished his beer, reflecting that Jon did love Malcolm. He hadn't seen Jon so deeply in love with someone before. He'd known most of Jon's lovers in the intervening years, but Jon was completely smitten with their armory officer.

Trip disposed of his bottle and decided that if Jon ever tried to play with Malcolm's life again, he'd let Malcolm know what Jon had been doing.

And that he was more than willing to take Jon's place if Malcolm was interested.

***

Malcolm was in sickbay by the time Jon arrived. Phlox scanned the armory officer while he sat motionless on the biobed, dressed only in the generic drawstring pants the doctor kept for his patients. He was slightly damp looking, glistening from the gel. Jon noticed, smeared along with the decon coating, splashes of that striking dusk colored blood in his hair, on his chest, stomach, and arms. Malcolm's uniform had been saturated with it.

Phlox injected him and Malcolm didn't even flinch.

"How is he, Doctor?" Jon asked, concern evident in his voice.

When Malcolm didn't look up from the contemplation of his bare feet, Jon's worry increased. Phlox walked over to Jon and pulled him aside.

"Physically he's fine, Captain, not a scratch." The Denobulan smiled, thinking about the Lieutenant's propensity towards injury. He drew Jon further away. "However, he is most unresponsive. I believe he's exhibiting signs of psychogenic shock. I would suggest that he eat something, and then get some sleep. I've given him a sedative that should take effect in about forty-five minutes. It should keep him out for approximately twelve hours."

Dr. Phlox's pale eyes met his Captain's with frank appraisal. "I would not recommend any strenuous activity. And don't force him to talk, but if he wishes to, listen."

Jon nodded and Phlox noticed the distress on his face. "I'll have Chef deliver some soup to your quarters," he said, his statement not quite a question. Jon nodded again.

"I assure you, he'll feel much better after eating and some adequate rest. The human species is quite resilient, Captain. A good night's sleep will do wonders for him." Phlox smiled once more and returned to his patient, informing him that he was free to go.

Malcolm sat there for a minute and then slid off the biobed. He stood, and finally looked up at Jon.

Jon hugged him and Malcolm leaned into him, resting his head against Jon's broad chest.

Jon put his arm around Malcolm's shoulder, leading him out of sickbay and back to their quarters.

***

Jon forced Malcolm to eat and turned down the bed, getting Malcolm to stand so he could untie the loose knot in the drawstring pants.

"Shower."

Jon looked up from his task, the word uttered so low that he wasn't sure he had actually heard it. It was the first time Malcolm had spoken since the firefight, and Jon looked at him quizzically.

"I've got gel and blood all over me."

"Sure, Malcolm, whatever you want."

"I just want to be clean again, Jon."

"Sure. Come on, I'll help you."

Jon turned on the water, disrobed, and slid the pants off his lover. He pulled him into the stall and washed Malcolm's hair. Malcolm sighed and watched the water, faintly colored with the aliens' blood, swirl down the drain.

Jon washed his lover thoroughly, hands soapy and gliding down Malcolm's compact body. He massaged his beloved's shoulders, feeling the tension release bit-by-bit. He rubbed Malcolm, making slow circles on his back and stomach, and when Malcolm yawned, his eyes beginning to close and finally relaxing, Jon held him tightly under the warm stream, rinsing him off.

Malcolm rested against Jon, savoring the heat of the water, the warmth of the other man's body. Comfortable and secure in Jon's embrace, he let his mind wander, trying not to think about the day's events. He closed his eyes and allowed Jon to support him.

Jon always supported him it seemed. Malcolm wondered what he'd done to deserve such devotion. Jon was stroking him, running his hand from the back of his head, down the nape of his neck, slowly brushing down his between his shoulders, ending at the small of his back and then up again, repeating the soothing motion.

He felt safe and loved.

Malcolm didn't know how long they stood there. The next thing he knew Jon was drying him off and he shivered, cold. He made the effort to open his eyes and saw Jon staring at him. The troubled look on his lover's face tugged at him.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to reassure Jon.

Jon led him to the bed and placed the blankets over him, and when Jon slid in, Malcolm draped himself around Jon, fingers entwined in Jon's chest hair, listening to his lover's steady heartbeat. He felt Jon's strong hand play over his back, caressing him. He couldn't keep his eyes open and he felt that cerement of sleep trying to descend over him.

"Please don't do that anymore, Jon."

"What?"

"Endanger yourself. It's not worth it."

"We're out here to meet people Malcolm, to explore…"

Malcolm yawned and mumbled, "I can't take it. If I lost you, I'd go mad…don't keep doing this to me…"

Jon stiffened a bit and his hand stopped its tender motion. "You make it sound like I do it on purpose."

He had to strain to hear Malcolm's next soft and indistinct words. "You know I'd die for you, Jon. Kill for you. I love you, Jon. Just…think…before you act, all right?"

Jon felt his beloved go slack, his breathing deepen, and he knew that the doctor's sedative had finally won. He pressed a kiss into Malcolm's hair, and continued to stroke him.

But it was a long time before Jon fell asleep.