Going Down

Now

Going down again, Malcolm thought hazily as his mouth filled with that thin, slightly sweet fluid. He'd just managed to come up for air when grasping hands pushed him under once more.

Every inch of his body was soaking wet, every millimeter of his skin slippery and covered in that warm fluid. He was drowning in it; had been drowning in it for what seemed like ages.

He never thought drowning would be so pleasurable.

Hands tugged at him, pulling at him, but he struggled to the surface for air. He inhaled with a great gasp before his face was pushed down once more into another liquid heated pool. Exhausted, he couldn't fight against them—there were too many anyway.

He could hear their muffled sounds of delight as he continued to drown, mouth filling anew.

---

Before

"You should have seen them. I'm telling you, Malcolm, they were all gorgeous!" Trip exclaimed enthusiastically over his meal. Malcolm merely grunted and shoved another forkful of food into his mouth.

"He's not exaggerating this time," Travis said, ignoring Trip's indignant "Hey! When do I exaggerate?". That got a smirk out of Malcolm and Travis winked at him, looking pleased that he had gotten a rise out of the Commander. "Every one of them was beautiful," Travis continued, leaning closer to Malcolm and lowering his voice. "And believe me, those tops left nothing to the imagination. Every size, all perfectly shaped—firm, ripe." Here Travis' hands came up and he made squeezing motions in the air. "Oh, man. I could bury my face in them and just drown in the boobage—" he broke off and leaned forward with his eyes closed, shaking his head rapidly while making a low growling sound.

Malcolm laughed out loud. "Boobage, Ensign?" He exchanged a look with Trip. Trip was grinning one of his patented wide grins and nodding passionately.

"Hooters, titties, bazookas, knockers, sweater puppies, love lumps, or boobage, no matter what you want to call them, they had them and they were magnificent," Travis replied.

"Malcolm's more of an ass man," Trip said slyly.

The image of Trip's bum in his tight blues flashed through Malcolm's mind. He quickly ducked his head, concentrating on his food to hide his momentary lapse, thus missing the fond expression that crossed Trip's face.

Trip watched Malcolm, finding it difficult as usual to sublimate his desires where their armory officer was concerned. He found himself wishing once again that Malcolm's ass attraction veered toward the more masculine version; such as his own for instance.

Travis didn't notice Malcolm's discomfort nor Trip's sudden wistful look; he was off waxing lyrical about the backsides of the women he'd seen in the background of the viewscreen while Captain Archer talked to their Head PoMpoM. He then began to speculate on the attributes of said Head PoMpoM's bottom.

"Can you imagine it, Malcolm?" Trip interrupted. "A planet populated by beautiful women! It's like some old sci fi movie."

"It's like a dream come true," Travis sighed.

"Or a nightmare," Malcolm muttered. He'd already been waylaid by Hoshi in the lift, who'd complained about the nature of their latest first contact.

"They're glorified cheerleaders if you ask me. Running around in those tight sweaters and skimpy little skirts, drooling over the captain and every other male on the bridge—why, they acted as if they've never seen a man before!" Hoshi leaned against the wall of the lift, her arms crossed and a sour look on her face. "I find it hard to believe they're mature women, let alone capable of running a planet."

"Sounds like someone's jealous," Malcolm teased.

"Hardly," Hoshi sniffed. "There's just something odd about them, something artificial. And I don't mean their chests."

"Is there anything about them in the Vulcan Database?" Malcolm asked.

"Not a lot," Hoshi replied. "Although they're technologically advanced, they don't seem to leave their system that often; not much is known about their species." Hoshi reached over and stopped the lift, her gaze intent. "I don't trust them. I don't know why, but it's not jealousy. There's something off about them. I tried to tell the captain, but I can't really explain what seems wrong. It's just a hunch I have, but you know how he is."

Malcolm nodded. Oh, yes, he knew how Captain Archer was—he wanted concrete information, not gut feelings that were all too often brushed off as paranoia. However, Malcolm had always found Hoshi's instincts to be sound. "Do you think they present a danger to us?"

Hoshi visibly relaxed at his tone. While Jon had listened to her concerns, he'd merely gone into the reassuring older brother mode. Although it was one of the traits that made Hoshi feel comfortable and secure with Jon, it was also something that irritated her to no end at times. Which is why she'd come to Malcolm—if it had to do with the safety of the ship and crew, he would take it seriously, no matter how vague or unlikely it seemed.

"I don't know. There's something...off...about them," Hoshi floundered. She released the stop and the lift continued on its way. "I can't explain it." The door opened at her stop. "Just—if you go down there, keep your eyes open, all right?"

Malcolm was pulled back to the present when Travis rose, his meal finished. "Well, Commander, if you see the captain, tell him I'll be happy to pilot the shuttlepod down there."

"You'll have to get in line, Ensign, and it forms behind me," Trip said with a chuckle. Travis laughed and left and Trip turned his attention toward Malcolm. "So—gonna join me for shore leave? I'll save you a place in line," Trip said, using his best wheedling tone.

Their last shore leave on Risa hadn't gone exactly as planned; although he'd managed to get Malcolm loosened up and they had picked up a couple of 'girls', the next step—seducing Malcolm while in the midst of a foursome—had been a dismal failure. Getting mugged by shape shifting aliens had thrown a monkey wrench into his scheme, but at least there was that nice memory of being tied up with his half naked friend.

Trip shifted slightly as his underwear began to pinch a bit, thinking that maybe this time his plan would work. If the Head PoMpoM was any indication of how the rest of the women acted (and considering the coquettish manner of the women he'd seen in the background, Trip would bet on it), then even Crewman Moonves, one of the most unlikable and unattractive men Trip had ever met, would be able to get lucky. He just had to make sure that Malcolm was with him when it came to that point.

"We haven't been invited yet," Malcolm stated primly. "Besides, I don't think it's prudent to just let our people blithely go down there without checking things out first."

"Malcolm, it's a bunch of women. How dangerous could they be?"

"Obviously you've never met any of my ex-girlfriends."

Their conversation was interrupted when the messhall door opened and Captain Archer walked in, a wide grin on his face.

"Looks like we got that invitation," Trip said happily as the captain approached.

"We certainly did," Jon replied. "You and I'll go down tomorrow. Malcolm, I want you to accompany us," he said warmly, placing his hand on Malcolm's shoulder as he took a seat next to Trip.

"Yes, sir," Malcolm said dutifully, relieved that he didn't have to confront Captain Archer with an argument on security. He felt the captain squeeze his shoulder, the man's hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Not that Malcolm ever minded, much to his constant chagrin.

"Sounds good," Trip said. He looked at Malcolm. "Who knows, they might just like tall, blond and handsome. You can protect us from them."

Malcolm merely looked at his superior officers as they laughed, thinking that he liked tall, blond, and handsome too.

---

Later

Malcolm had to admit that Trip had been right—the women were gorgeous. Slightly shorter than himself and with large dark eyes, they were all smooth skinned ripeness with an abundance of flirtatious charm.

However, as much as he felt the tug of their seductive charisma, Hoshi's warning stuck with him. There was something off about them all right, but nothing he could put his finger on. Which was a poor choice of words he realized as he once again discreetly shifted away from the lovely woman on his right whose fingers were running up and down his thigh in a casual yet proprietary manner. His movement brought him closer to the woman on his left, who immediately smiled at him and leaned in, her sizable breasts brushing against his arm.

The captain and Trip were happily chatting with the Head PoMpoM and the rest of her entourage, both men charming their hosts. Malcolm watched his superior officers, the casual touches, the little glances as they found something amusing, the shared bond they exuded. His eyes lingered over Trip, his expressive face, that bedazzling smile. When Jon laughed at something one of the women said, Malcolm's attention was drawn to him and a few highly inappropriate thoughts passed through Malcolm's mind.

Malcolm put his glass down, quickly deciding not to drink anything further than the few sips he'd politely partaken of during the first round of toasts. He didn't want his imagination, or his libido, to take control. Being surrounded by so much tempting flesh was making it difficult enough to concentrate. He tried to will his blood away from his nether regions but it was getting more futile by the moment, especially since the women continually touched all of them, their conversation at times blatantly titillating.

One of the women continued to refill their glasses and while Malcolm's sat untouched his abstinence didn't seem to help; the intoxicating promise of sex and plenty of it permeated the atmosphere, increasing as the evening wore on. Although Hoshi's warning still nagged at the back of his mind, there was nothing solid to base his suspicions on. After all, he wasn't quite paranoid enough to believe that anyone wanting to shag his brains out had a nefarious motive. Even if they were aliens and a little off—he was ready to chalk it up to cultural differences but couldn't quite make himself surrender the last of his wariness.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the young woman behind him. She caressed his neck again, smiling as he turned and giving him a come hither look.

Preoccupied, he didn't notice the Head PoMpoM speak briefly with a serving woman, who immediately moved toward him. Her low sultry voice suddenly sounding in his ear caused him to flinch back a little. She leaned over him, giving him an eyeful of her perfectly shaped breasts and Malcolm's body began to react again.

She licked her lips and asked if the wine was not to his liking, her mouth brushing against his ear. As soon as her moist lips touched his skin, he felt a spark of lust engulf him, his skin tingling. He managed to stammer out some excuse, trying, and failing, to keep his gaze on her eyes and not sliding back down to her magnificent chest. She glanced at the Head PoMpoM, who lifted one elegant eyebrow. The woman immediately returned her attention to Malcolm and smiled with a slight nod.

She then licked him, tongue darting out and encircling his ear before dipping into it. At the same time the young woman behind him wetly nibbled on the back of his neck. Together the two electric sensations dissolved his already weakened guard. There was only so much a man could take after all. Besides, a part of him sluggishly rationalized, these little slips of innocuous fluff seemed incapable of posing any threat, except perhaps suffocating a man with their bounteous breasts.

Which wouldn't be a bad way to go, Malcolm decided abruptly as the serving woman sucked his earlobe into her mouth. After all, Trip and the captain were always telling him to loosen up. And it was apparent that his superior officers were feeling very loose indeed, no doubt helped by the endless drinks, and thoroughly enjoying themselves—they had women draped over them, each receiving neck massages by a pair of beautiful girls.

When the girl on Malcolm's left slid herself onto his lap in order to massage his shoulders, Malcolm's reservations fell by the wayside and he met his superior officers' smiles with a grin as wide as their own.

---

Later still

"Tell me, Captain, Commander," the Head PoMpoM purred, wriggling her body and leaning forward a little, which showed off her ample cleavage to its best advantage, "How do you cope with the pressures of leadership? Don't you find it just so...hard at times?"

"It can be, but I have excellent people I can lean on," Jon said, dislodging the girl glued to his side as he put action to his words, nudging Trip and coming to rest against his shoulder. They shared a brief look before his eyes moved on to Malcolm's. "People I trust, whose advice I appreciate; who I like very much and whose friendship I value more than I can say." The warmth of his tone surprised Malcolm, as did the heat of Jon's gaze. Malcolm looked away, a little flustered and aroused, his tenuous control over his rebellious cock slipping again. The girl on Malcolm's lap giggled, grinding her crotch into his thigh and Malcolm's mind clouded over with lust once more.

"Friendship? Can you truly have a friendship with an underling? Do you not need an equal, someone of your same status, someone who understands the unique circumstances of your position?" the Head PoMpoM asked, pouting attractively.

"I don't think so," Jon replied with that sincerity of a man well within his cups. "I can see past the rank and through to the friend. For instance, Commander Tucker and I have been good friends for almost 10 years—"

The Head PoMpoM leaned back, a surprised look on her face. "Good friends? You are...close?" None of the men picked up the slight hesitation or the pointed innuendo.

Jon looked at Trip, affection plain on is face. "Yes, we're close. I don't know what I'd do without him." Jon patted Trip's thigh for emphasis, his hand slightly clumsy.

Trip smiled back and threw his arm around Jon's shoulder. "Hell, yeah, we're close. I love this guy!" he proclaimed expansively. The two men stared deeply into each other's eyes, beaming.

After Trip's declaration, the Head PoMpoM began to center her attention on Malcolm.

---

As Trip and Jon wove their way down the corridor, Malcolm trailed behind them, feeling conflicted and randy. The girl who'd been sitting on his lap had left a wet spot on his thigh (which had excited him yet made him uneasy at the same time) and he could feel his flesh tingling there, a sensation that was working its way throughout his body. As much as he felt the urgent need to get laid, he was uncomfortable—the women were overwhelming, almost predatory in their focus.

And now the captain and Trip had overridden his suggestion that they decline the Head PoMpoM's hospitality to stay for the night. Trip and Jon were supporting each other, flirting outrageously with the women on either side of them, trying to snatch kisses from them. The woman danced out of the way of their ungainly attempts, laughing and teasing them.

Malcolm was surrounded by the rest of the entourage, the Head PoMpoM's arm wrapped possessively around his waist while she prattled on in husky tones. When a hand squeezed his ass, Malcolm looked over his shoulder in surprise. One of the women behind him smiled at him and to his mortification he felt his already half-hard cock stiffen further.

"Sir—" Malcolm began, suddenly wanting to convince the captain to go back to the ship. Malcolm was aware that it was getting more difficult to ignore his body's demands, that his superiors weren't completely sober, and while the thought of hot monkey sex with the nearest person was appealing, something was setting off little alarms bells deep within his brain.

The Head PoMpoM casually swept her hand over his chest, brushing his nipples. The feeling was far more intense than it had any right to be and his cock responded again. "Sir," he said again, appalled that his voice came out slightly higher pitched than normal.

"Malcolm!" Jon exclaimed, as if he'd forgotten his armory officer's presence. He stopped and turned around, almost upsetting himself and Trip. He leaned forward and grasped Malcolm by the shoulders, squinting at the Head PoMpoM with a serious expression on his face. "Malcolm's great. You couldn't ask for a finer man to watch your backside...er, back, I mean," Jon stumbled.

The verbal slip made Malcolm's cock complete rigid and he drew away from Jon, desperately hoping that no one noticed the rather abrupt bulge in his uniform. The Head PoMpoM stepped between him and the captain, leaning casually back against Malcolm as she caressed Jon's chest, capturing his attention and causing Jon to moan a little. Malcolm's cock jutted between her buttocks and he could feel himself flush with embarrassment and arousal.

And when the Head PoMpoM turned and kissed him, her hot, moist tongue slipping into his mouth, something flared in Malcolm's head. He pulled her away from the captain's grasping hands and pushed her against the wall, forcing his knee between her thighs. She straddled him and he felt her gyrate into his leg. He dimly registered the fabric of his uniform growing damp beneath her, that tingling sensation spreading quickly and enveloping him completely.

He didn't register two of the other women sweeping his superior officers into a room. He didn't register backing down the hallway and through doorways until he somehow landed on a soft surface, flat on his back and the Head PoMpoM's tongue still dueling with his own.

He didn't register his clothes being torn from him and the sudden presence of several other women.

He didn't register his body being covered in liquid until it was too late.

---

Trip fell back upon the enormous bed, the woman who had pushed him looking down at him with an enchanting smile. The bed rippled as Jon was pushed down next to him, the motion making him just a little dizzy. One of the women leaned over and kissed him, insinuating her tongue between his lips. His mouth began to tingle and the sensation went straight to his already aching groin. He slipped his hand up her skirt, between her legs, feeling the dampness of her underwear. His fingers began to tingle too.

The next thing he knew the women were gone, their lilting "good night, lovers," echoing in the empty room. He struggled to sit up, and turned toward Jon. He had the feeling that the stunned look on his friend's face matched his own.

"What...what happened?" he asked, bewildered. He was painfully hard and by the look of it, Jon was in similar straits.

"Was it something I said?" Jon slurred, only half joking. Trip shook his head in disbelief.

"I thought...damn." Trip shifted, that tingling feeling spreading up his arm and throughout his body. He cast around his cloudy memory, trying to think if he had said anything that would have caused the women to abandon them. A fractured moment rose and he flopped back onto the bed with a groan. "Oh, god. They think we're a couple."

"What?" came Jon's reply. "How..." He interrupted himself and rolled over onto his side, staring at Trip, some of the Head PoMpoM's innuendo coming back to him. "Oh, shit."

Trip began to laugh and Jon glared at him. "Go ahead, laugh it up, buddy. My dick's about to explode."

Trip's laughter died as he became aware of his discomfort once again. If anything, it increased as his eyes helplessly flicked toward Jon's crotch. The fabric was stretched tautly, and he could see the outline of Jon's penis straining against it. He didn't think that his own erection could get any harder but it did at the sight. He looked back into Jon's eyes and saw a heated glaze to them, and suddenly kissing Jon seemed to be a very good idea.

So he did.

---

Jon woke, his head throbbing slightly. Muscles and body parts he hadn't used in a while also ached. He rolled over and came face to face with Trip.

He studied his still sleeping friend. He wasn't quite sure how to react. Last night's passionate lovemaking seemed inexplicable to him now. He'd never thought of Trip that way; his taste ran more toward slighter, darker haired men. Like his armory officer.

But he realized as he drank in Trip's features, after last night, a whole world of possibilities had been laid out before him. Trip was amazing.

And this morning, Jon's previous feelings of a strictly brotherly love for Trip had somehow shifted toward something different, something greater.

He thought that the fact he'd come three times last night may have something to do with this new feeling.

Jon wasn't quite sure what to do about any of this and didn't have time to formulate a plan as Trip's eyes fluttered open.

"Mornin', darlin'," Trip said with a sweet smile. He leaned over and kissed Jon and just like that, everything was all right.

---

They ate a hearty breakfast provided by their lovely hosts, that small hangover-like feeling diminishing as the morning wore on. The Grand PoMpoM, looking radiant and even more beautiful than yesterday, explained that Malcolm was occupied, members of her entourage giving him a personal tour.

While Trip was happy—no, to be truthful, ecstatic—about last night with Jon, there was a portion of him that still wished that Malcolm had been there in bed with him. After making slow and highly enjoyable love this morning, both confessed their surprise but contentment at how things had turned out, considering they'd never thought of each other that way before; neither were the other's type. To Trip's surprise he'd discovered Jon's type was the same as his own—and that Jon's attraction to Malcolm was just as strong as his own.

His devious engineering mind was already working on a way to manage a threesome with their armory officer.

---

The rest of the day passed quickly; Jon and Trip were kept busy seeing the sights with the Head PoMpoM accompanying them everywhere. She continued to urge Jon to send his men down for shore leave, extolling the virtues of her planet. They stopped for a lavish picnic lunch in a beautiful park, complete with fountains and statutes and nature trails that they explored at length after their meal. The women still flirted with Trip and Jon, although not as aggressively as the night before. Then again, neither man tried as hard as they had last night. All in all, it was the most pleasant day they had experienced in a long time, and both were disappointed when the weather turned cloudy and threatening, curtailing their afternoon out. So they returned to the palace, relaxed and happy.

But when Malcolm didn't show up, Trip began to worry. The Head PoMpoM brushed off his concerns, assuring them that the Lieutenant's guides had most likely decided to stay in the city they'd been touring—it was quite a distance away and was experiencing the brunt of the bad weather. It was much more convenient and safer to spend the night there she claimed.

However, when Jon tried to raise Malcolm on the communicator there was no answer. The Head PoMpoM laughingly explained that it was no surprise; the electrical discharges from storms often interfered with communications. But still it troubled Jon and he could see that Trip shared his unease as they exchanged glances throughout dinner.

As the night progressed Jon's disquiet grew as the Head PoMpoM's again pushed for Jon to bring his crewmen down. To stall her, he excused himself, claiming a need to use the facilities. He called the ship instead.

"I need you to contact Malcolm, and if that fails, locate his biosign," Jon told Hoshi.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Hoshi asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Jon suddenly recalled her misgivings about their hosts and winced. At least Hoshi wasn't the type to say 'I told you so'. "I hope not," he answered honestly. "But I can't get a hold of him and although I've been reassured that it's normal during this kind of weather, I can't help but think that your instincts were right, Ensign."

"I'll get on it right away, sir. Where is he supposed to be?" He gave her the name of the city. "It shouldn't take long." Her tone had turned brisk with a steely determination lacing it. He knew she'd stay there all night if she had to.

"Wait for me to contact you again in a few hours," he said. He didn't want their hosts to know of his conversation; if it was as the Head PoMpoM claimed, he didn't want to offend her. But one of his crew was missing and it didn't sit well with him. The fact that it was Malcolm made it all the more personal.

---

It was well past midnight and still the Head PoMpoM continued to press Jon to have his crew come down. As she walked them to their room, Jon finally said something about checking with the ship in the morning just to get her off his back.

She'd squealed in delight, and wetly kissed both Jon and Trip. Both men felt a flare of lust, but before either could react, she gathered her entourage and bid them goodnight, leaving them alone in their room.

Trip pushed Jon down onto the bed, fumbling at the zipper of Jon's uniform. Jon was just as desperately clawing at Trip, hands tangling in their rush to undress the other. They frantically kissed, their bodies rubbing against each other, both rock hard.

There was little finesse to their copulation, so unlike the tender coupling earlier this morning. It was fast and frenzied, their need overwhelming; it was close to last night's mindless passion, although both maintained a little more control this time.

Minutes later they were panting, surprised by the intensity of their lovemaking. Jon felt his groin stir again as he gazed at Trip; his lover looked like he was ready for another round. Jon kissed him, feeling himself harden instantly as Trip fervently kissed him back.

"Wait, wait. Hoshi..." Jon gasped out.

Trip pulled back. "No. Trip. Trip," he repeated slowly, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Remember? Tall, blond, incredibly horny guy?" He rubbed his recovered erection against Jon.

"No. I mean I have to call Hoshi." Jon pushed himself away from Trip, although he couldn't resist giving the man one last kiss. "I asked her to locate Malcolm."

Trip rolled onto his back, instantly serious, and passed a hand over his face. "Jesus, you're right. What's happened to us?" He gave Jon a sideways glance. "Not that the thought of making love to you all night long isn't attractive, but I think there's something fishy going on here."

Jon had to restrain himself from touching Trip. "I know. I haven't been this...recuperative...since my college days and I'm having a difficult time concentrating on anything other than you right now." He tore his gaze away from Trip's perfect body and rose, trying to ignore his arousal. He retrieved his comm from his uniform and hailed the ship. Hoshi answered immediately.

"They lied to you; he's not in that city," Hoshi began and Trip stood, his concern overriding his libido. He began to pull his clothing on as Hoshi continued, her voice anxious. "He's right there, somewhere in the palace—three levels down, with several other people around him. Phlox says his biosign shows an elevated heart rate and it's been that way since we located him almost two hours ago."

Jon's gut churned; what kind of duress was Malcolm under? He saw the worry on Trip's face and knew that his own look mirrored Trip's.

"Send the information to my scanner. We're going to get him."

---

The hallways were brightly lit, affording little cover, but they met no one as they made their stealthy way down the three levels. The most difficult part was finding a way down; the entrances to the stairwells were cleverly concealed and they had wasted precious time trying to find one.

They stood outside a green door, just one of many different colored doors that lined the corridor. They'd counted at least a dozen biosigns in the room, besides Malcolm's. They both set their phase pistols to stun and with a nod to Trip, Jon cautiously opened the door and they slipped inside.

They pulled up short, surprised. The room was lit with hundreds of candles and music pulsed in the background. There were bottles of wine, glasses and food trays neatly arranged along a long table against the back of room. Plush couches lined the walls, each occupied by two or more women. Who were in various states of undress and totally engrossed in one another, completely oblivious to Trip and Jon's presence.

But the biggest surprise was the enormous bed in the middle, and the three women upon it.

With one naked and soaking wet Malcolm Reed.

---

Trip's eyes almost fell out of his head as he took in the carnal scene before him. One woman was holding Malcolm's head firmly down between her thighs, panting out encouraging words, his face buried in her crotch. The woman beneath him had her legs wrapped around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, moaning in ecstasy. The third woman was dividing her attention between Malcolm's balls and his ass, sucking and licking, head bobbing almost comically in time to his pistoning hips, her hands kneading his flesh.

Trip's blood began to rush southward as he watched Malcolm move, his body glistening in the candlelight, every sculpted muscle, every sharp plane and firm curve laid out before him. Trip had been in decon with Malcolm before, but had never seen him in his full glory. It was a sight to fuel a thousand fantasies, made even more potent as the woman beneath Malcolm cried out, both she and Malcolm shuddering in orgasm. The other woman ground herself more fully into Malcolm's face, her head thrown back as she howled her release.

Moments later Malcolm moved back, gasping for air. The woman beneath him slid out from under him and helped the other woman to rise; they made their languid way to an empty couch where they began to gently fondle one another. Malcolm collapsed onto his stomach, his back heaving as he coughed wetly a few times, trying to catch his breath. The third woman ran a hand over his back, rubbing it vigorously. "You'll be fine," she cooed, and nudged him onto his side, her mouth engulfing his penis. Malcolm moaned and the sound went straight to Trip's groin.

Trip looked at Jon. Jon's mouth was open, his eyes wide. A glance down confirmed that Jon was in the same state of arousal as Trip was, and Trip gave his upper arm a quick smack. Jon closed his mouth.

The woman repositioned herself, thrusting her gleaming wet crotch into Malcolm's face, never breaking her fellating rhythm. Malcolm shifted and that's when Jon saw the chain fastened around Malcolm's ankle, securely anchored to the bed frame. He raised his phase pistol. "Nobody move," he announced loudly.

The room exploded into motion.

---

The women came at them, a few shrieking in rage, and it was all they could do to avoid being overrun by them. They fired again and again as the women rushed them, some with knives and bottles they had grabbed from the table, others with their bare hands, their manicured nails long, sharp and quite lethal looking.

Moments later the room was still, the women Jon and Trip had stunned lying where they'd fallen. The only noise was the music still playing softly in the background, and the wet sounds of oral sex emanating from the bed.

They were entwined together, thrusting and hands busy, going down on one another, blind to everything around them. Trip and Jon approached the bed cautiously just as the woman groaned in climax, her juices flowing abundantly, soaking the already drenched sheets. She bore down on Malcolm, humping his face as she continued to suck him. He came again with muffled cry and she swallowed quickly, though some of his semen escaped from her greedy mouth. She finally slowed the grinding of her hips and he pulled away, coughing so hard he gagged.

The look of surprise on her face as she finally noticed Trip and Jon was almost laughable. She opened her mouth to speak but Trip stunned her; he felt a spark of spiteful satisfaction as he watched her collapse.

Malcolm had dragged himself to the edge of the bed, caught in a wretched coughing fit. Jon and Trip reached for him at the same time and they both gasped at the shock of sensation that went through them when they made contact with his flesh. An intense thrill of sexual excitement flooded them and the only thing that kept them from throwing themselves at each other and the man between them was their overwhelming concern for Malcolm.

"Trip, get that chain off of him," Jon ordered as he pulled Malcolm up. He pounded Malcolm on the back, trying to help him clear his lungs. Trip immediately knelt down to examine the chain.

As Malcolm tried to catch his breath, Jon rubbed soothing circles over his back. Malcolm was sopping wet from head to toe, his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep, and there were scratches and small bruises marring his skin with what looked like a bite mark or two thrown in. Jon thought that Malcolm epitomized the old saying of being ridden hard and put away wet; to Jon's embarrassment he found himself growing hard once more.

Trip nodded that he was ready and Jon pulled Malcolm against his chest, cradling Malcolm's head against his shoulder to hold Malcolm still. Another flare of desire went through Jon as Malcolm leaned against him, unprotesting.

It took Trip a few minutes to cut the chain off of Malcolm's ankle; he used his phase pistol, holding his breath to keep his hand steady. It was a delicate operation; he could feel the sexual tension building within him as he held onto Malcolm's leg to prevent it from moving, grateful that Jon was keeping Malcolm still although a bit envious at how tightly Jon was holding him. The urge to slide his hand up Malcolm's leg and continuing all over his skin was strong; his hand tingled where he touched Malcolm and the feeling was climbing up his arm, slowly spreading throughout his torso. Malcolm coughed hard again and Trip looked up, catching a glimpse of his cock; he had to tear his eyes away as he felt his body respond.

Jon was undergoing his own struggle not to ravish his armory officer then and there. The feel of Malcolm in his arms and the sight of his naked body were definitely having an effect upon him. As soon as Trip freed Malcolm from his restraint, Jon stood, pulling Malcolm up with him. "Try and find him some pants or something," he told Trip.

"That'd be a damn shame; I kinda like the view," Trip replied, unable to look away this time.

"I know," Jon gritted out. "But I don't think I can control myself if we don't get him dressed soon." Not that covering Malcolm up would lessen the temptation, but Jon hoped it would at least ease his growing urges.

It took Trip a minute or two to find something suitable, but he returned with a pair of pants. Unfortunately the pants were a bit small, no doubt owned by one of the women they'd stunned, and together they had to manhandle Malcolm into them. By the time Jon and Trip were finished they were both panting, but not from the exertion.

Trip almost broke. He wanted to grab Malcolm and kiss him. Wanted to suck him, to fuck him, to be fucked by him. He could see Jon felt the same. But Trip forced himself to sling Malcolm's arm over his shoulder instead. Jon had been bearing most of Malcolm's weight, holding him up, and Trip's overriding worry kept him from giving in to his desires. Their normally self reliant lieutenant had been little more than a rag doll in their arms.

"Let's go," Jon said. They drew their phase pistols and hauled Malcolm forward. Needless to say, they were startled when the door opened and they came face to face with the Head PoMpoM. Her eyes widened in distress.

"But it was my turn again!" she wailed. Jon stunned her and Malcolm stirred, raising his head.

"Thank god," he muttered hoarsely. "She damn near drowned me the last time."

---

As they made their way to the shuttlepod they met with only a little resistance, most of it in the form of pouting and shrill protests. Trip felt a deep-seated satisfaction each time he was forced to stun someone. He had the feeling that Jon felt the same way.

The flight back to the ship was brief and silent with Trip and Jon sitting up front, trying to control themselves and Malcolm sitting in the back, coughing occasionally and not inclined to talk. Trip had draped a blanket over Malcolm's shoulders and turned the heat up. The secretions left behind by the women were now drying on his skin and he looked like he'd been attacked by a herd of snails.

Phlox greeted them outside of the decon chamber, eyeing the half naked and shiny Lieutenant with a bright curiosity. "What are you covered in?" he asked. Malcolm blushed furiously and mumbled something that Jon couldn't quite make out, but Phlox apparently did. "Ew," the doctor replied mildly and pulled out a pair of gloves, snapping them melodramatically as he put them on. He scrapped some of the dried silvery deposits off of Malcolm, saving the flakes in a vial he produced from another deep pocket. He closed the lid and slipped it back into his pocket, then scanned Malcolm. "Hmmm," Phlox hummed, pointing the scanner at Jon and Trip in turn. "Umm hmmmm." This was in a tone of amused interest. He turned the instrument back toward Malcolm and hmmm'ed again.

"Doctor," Jon said, a little put out. He had followed Malcolm out of the shuttle and the view of Malcolm's ass in those tight, tight pants had almost shattered the minimal control Jon was currently trying to exert over his lust. The fact that Trip looked ready to come didn't help either; Jon wanted nothing more than to be the meat in a Tucker- Reed sandwich, complete with a gallon of mayonnaise pour over him, and he wanted it right now.

"Decon for you all, Captain," Phlox said. "Mr. Reed is physically fine and clear of any venereal diseases." Malcolm cringed slightly. "I'd like to see him in sickbay afterwards for a more thorough check, but my preliminary findings show that all he needs is a shower and a good night's sleep for now." He motioned the three inside the chamber. "Use plenty of gel," he added with a wide grin on his face.

Jon gritted his teeth at the cheery tone and stepped into decon. He waited until the door was shut and Phlox was gone before unzipping his uniform. Trip was stripping down, his eyes wandering to Malcolm, who was in the process of rubbing decon gel over his arms and chest. The gel mixed with the residue left on his skin and gave his flesh a well-oiled sheen.

Jon swallowed and looked away, scooping up a handful of the cold gel and rubbing it onto his stomach. He hoped it would help reduce the heat that was beginning to spread low in his abdomen but unfortunately he was too late; his underwear was already beginning to tent. He looked at Trip, which didn't help, since the man was wearing nothing but his briefs, a lust-filled stare, and an erection the size of Florida.

It was a bit too much for Jon. "Let me get your back, Lieutenant," he said, moving quickly to hide behind his armory officer. However that proved to be a disastrous tactic—the sight of Malcolm's ass poured into those pants only served to bring his dick to full attention.

It got even worse when he ran his slicked up hands over Malcolm's back. His building excitement blossomed into full fledged need as soon as he touched him. Malcolm froze as Jon's hands roved across his skin, but then he exhaled a gusty moan of pleasure as Jon's fingers glided down to the small of his back. Malcolm leaned back and Jon's erection just happened to settle between Malcolm's cheeks.

Jon couldn't help himself. Malcolm's eyes were closed, his lips parted and head tilted, the arch of his neck inviting. Jon kissed it, then licked it, nibbling a bit. He thought he'd never tasted anything so delicious, so perfect. He pulled Malcolm fully against his body, running his hands over Malcolm's chest, rubbing his cock against that firm ass. He heard Malcolm pant out "Ah God, yes" and felt him push back against him.

"Christ," Trip groaned. He rushed forward, aroused beyond belief at the sight of his lover feasting upon that graceful neck. He captured Malcolm's lips with his own, pressing up against him, hand slipping around to squeeze Jon's butt. Malcolm shoved his tongue into Trip's mouth, thrusting his groin against the engineer's and the fierce growl he made sent shivers through Trip.

Naked. He wanted Malcolm naked right now, right this instant. Trip broke the kiss, ignoring Malcolm's disappointed rumble of protest and knelt before Malcolm, fumbling at those skintight pants. He unzipped them and tried to pull them down, but they resisted his efforts. Trip swore in frustration, tugging harder, the outline of Malcolm's rigid cock in his face. He covered it with his mouth, eager to touch it, lips fondling Malcolm's penis through the fabric, dying to taste it. The sound Malcolm made incited him to pull harder at the recalcitrant trousers, finally getting them to inch down a little.

Trip's frantic groping roused Jon from his oral investigation of Malcolm's neck. He joined in the effort, insinuating his fingers into the waistband and tugging hard. Their combined effort pried the stubborn garment off, and Malcolm's cock sprang free, fully erect. The sight of that small, pale ass made Jon grin, and he squatted down and licked it, a long slow stroke from the top of one muscular cheek down to the bottom where it met his leg. He dragged his tongue under the curve there, pleased by the way gooseflesh rose under his fingertips and the shudder that ran through Malcolm. He was even more pleased by the words of "Oh fuck me!" that escaped from Malcolm's lips.

He peered around Malcolm's hip and saw Trip smiling wickedly back at him. They chose to take Malcolm's statement as a request.

---

Three hours later and they were still going at it. Phlox turned off the monitor, though he kept the recorder running. It was, after all, a perfect opportunity to study the mating habits of Human males. He hadn't seen some of those positions since his wedding night with his youngest wife and her first and second husbands, nor had he thought that Humans could be as flexible as Denobulans, but he supposed you learned something new every day.

He was pleased they had taken his advice to use plenty of gel. He made a note to have more synthesized; at the rate they were employing it he was in danger of having a shortage.

Phlox also decided to wait until they were finished in order to tell them of his findings. He had analyzed the organic residue that saturated the lieutenant's skin. It not only radically heightened one's libido, but also increased sperm production, causing a cycle of extended erections with almost unlimited ejaculations.

In fact, it appeared that ingesting even a small amount of the substance could lead to long term, and possibly permanent effects of inexhaustible stamina and multiple orgasms.

He could become a very wealthy man if only he could figure out how to manufacture and bottle it.

---

One year later

Trip relaxed on the bed, feeling pleasantly boneless. Jon was finishing up in the bathroom and he could feel the steam from the shower warm the room. He eyed the remains of the intimate dinner for two that was left on the table, debating whether he had room for that last forlorn looking chocolate-covered strawberry left on the plate. He decided that he didn't have the energy to get up and eat it; making love to Jon always left him feeling wonderfully slothful.

"Too lazy to get up and eat that?" Jon teased as he came into the room wearing a towel slung around his hips and a knowing smile.

"You plumb wore me out," Trip drawled in an exaggerated accent. "As usual." Luckily he wasn't too worn out to return the sweet lingering kiss Jon bestowed upon him. He drew back with a smile. "Happy anniversary, Jon," he said softly.

"Happy anniversary, Trip," Jon replied, a tender smile on his face. "I love you."

"Love you, too." He leaned in and kissed Trip once more.

The door chime sounded and Trip sighed, pulling away reluctantly. "Come," Jon called.

Malcolm entered the room, his eyes taking in the remnants of their meal, the non regulation candles burning on the table, Trip's position on the bed and the captain's state of dress.

"I can come back later..." Malcolm said, trailing off into an uncertain tone.

"No, don't worry about it," Jon reassured him.

"I don't want to intrude—it is your anniversary, after all," Malcolm protested.

"You're not intruding, Malcolm," Trip said, lying back and stretching out. "Besides, I've been waiting all day for you to give us your present."

"Present?" Malcolm snorted. "It's your anniversary, not mine."

Jon strode forward and kissed Malcolm soundly. His right hand unzipped Malcolm's uniform, while his left hand grabbed Malcolm's ass. He squeezed it, pulling Malcolm against him. As usual Malcolm responded with an aggressive ardor, backing Jon up until they tumbled over Trip and into their bed. Trip helped removed Malcolm's uniform, getting his own mouth and hands in on the action.

Trip's eyes gleamed mischievously as he helped Jon pin Malcolm to the mattress. "Now that's the kind of present I like to unwrap."

Jon nodded his agreement. "Yep, best anniversary present anyone could ask for."

"I can't believe I'm involved with a pair of lunatics," Malcolm said, but he was smiling that warm smile of perfect contentment.

"In love with," Trip corrected.

"In love with," Malcolm agreed. "I truly didn't intent to infringe upon your evening," he said seriously. "I just came by to get a padd I'd left here—"

"We were waiting for you," Jon interrupted, tracing a finger around Malcolm's nipple. He glanced at the clock on the desk. "Besides, it's past midnight—our anniversary's over, but that just means—"

"—that our anniversary is starting," Trip finished, kissing his way down Malcolm's chest.

"Well, in that case, have I got a present for you two," Malcolm purred.

---

Epilogue

"Mistress, there's a ship in orbit. They call themselves Andorians. They're blue!"

"Blue?" the Head PoMpoM echoed, continuing to check her reflection in the mirror. She looked fabulous, she decided, her figure perfect, but it should be; she'd been working hard on it.

"Blue!" her assistant confirmed, giggling. She peeked into the mirror and primped a bit. "And their hair is a pretty platinum color."

"Hmm," the Head PoMpoM mused. "I think I'll talk to them."

"Invite them down?"

"We'll see," she replied. She turned, smiled at the nursery supervisor, and kissed her twin daughters goodbye, delighting in their dark hair and grey eyes. The supervisor carried them over and placed them together in a crib, which was bigger and more ostentatiously decorated than the other dozens of cribs that filled the room. The Head PoMpoM gave a cursory look at the other baby girls occupying the cribs, all chocolate haired and light eyed. Her two were still the cutest, she thought smugly.

"Blue you said?" she asked, allowing her assistant to open the door for her.

"Yes, a very pretty blue, Mistress."

The Head PoMpoM smiled. She thought that a blue baby sister would look lovely next to the twins. "Order more cribs," she decreeded.