Wedding, Unwilling, But Able

"Trip—tell me why my engineer, my helmsman, and my chief medical officer are dressed in monkey suits."

"It's not my fault," came the immediate defensive reply.

Jon held back a sigh. "I didn't say it was, Trip." He sat in front of the computer screen in his quarters, taking in his friend's image.

Trip was covered from head to toe in a very tight, extremely form fitting, furry blue monkey costume. Complete with what appeared to be a prehensile tail.

The dark blue fur looked soft. A smooth, almost silvery blue material ranged over Trip's chest. A furry hood covered his head as well, with small ears built in to achieve a realistic look of a monkey. Fantastical airbrushed make-up finished off the impression, making Trip's face look very simian. A cute monkey, for sure, but a monkey nonetheless.

Not exactly Starfleet's finest moment, Jon decided.

"We were minding our own business, Jon. It was just an accident and they had no call to get all huffy with us. And then one thing led to another, and well, this was the only way out without causing an intergalactic incident. Now I know you're probably not too happy with the ship bein' stuck here another day, but we cut a deal with the Ambassador's mama, and then we're free to leave when the whole shebang's finally over. And if the Ambassador's mama's happy, then everybody's happy, and I'd say we've actually gone beyond and above the call of duty during this mission."

Jon slid a hand down his face. Trip was using his most charming powers of persuasion, his accent a honeyed drawl, talking fast and sounding perfectly reasonable.

Hard to trust a man in a monkey suit though.

"Well, it's apparent you four impressed them at the Minister's niece's wedding. The Ambassador sent me a vid chip."

Jon found some satisfaction at the blatant "uh oh" look on his friend's face.

"A vid chip?" Trip asked weakly.

Jon nodded.

"Uh…what did…uh…what was on it?"

"The wedding ceremony, of course."

Trip relaxed. "Oh…yeah, that was real nice."

"And your performance at the reception."

Trip gave him an embarrassed smile. "Oh. Well, I can explain—we were pretty much forced into that, you know. And we weren't too bad—they seemed to really like us."

Well, yes. It had been apparent that the wedding party really liked them. "Yeah, you guys were pretty good," Jon said instead. "The Ambassador said you were a hit. Which is why his mother wants you at her great granddaughter's wedding tonight." Jon saw Trip's rather proud and self-satisfied grin assert itself. He let Trip bask in it for a moment before continuing.

"And of course, it showed that whole…thing…afterwards."

"Afterwards?" Trip squeaked.

"Oh, yeah. Sounds like your participation was quite the honor, Trip. The Ambassador said his granddaughter is really looking forward to a comparable performance from the four of you." Jon grinned at his friend, taking delight in Trip's utter mortification.

"Oh, God! They recorded all of it?" Trip's first thought was how to steal a fast ship and disappear into space. His second thought was how to get his hands on that chip and destroy it.

"In loving detail, Trip. With close-ups and everything. I have to admit, I was pretty surprised in some parts."

Yeah. Parts southward. Jon had taken four cold showers in between viewings and finally jerked himself off. Twice.

Trip sat there, speechless, mouth open in a perfect "O", gaping at Jon.

A snippet from the video passed through Jon's mind and he decided again that Trip sure had a pretty mouth. He had played that scene in slow motion. Then frame by frame.

"I have to admit that Malcolm kind of shocked me, though. I didn't know he could be so…" Sexy, hot, lusty, nasty, erotic. Jon crossed his legs, trying to tame his rapidly hardening cock. "…extroverted," Jon concluded mildly.

That shook Trip from his daze. "Now, Jon, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't help it—"

Oh, Christ, now what had happened? But Trip's impassioned protest confirmed everything Jon had suspected—poor Trip had it even worse for their armory officer. But after watching that vid, Jon couldn't blame him.

"Just start at the beginning, Trip. Start with…the outfits."

***

Trip leaned back in his chair. He had a nice buzz going on, and he was enjoying himself and the company. The bar was crowded but they had snagged the last table, and he didn't plan on leaving for quite a while.

He was disappointed at first when Travis decided to tag along and surprised when Phlox invited himself to their little shore leave party. Trip had wanted to spend the time alone with Malcolm, even though he knew they'd probably end up cruising for women. A poor substitute for Malcolm in his bed, but he knew for a fact that Malcolm was straight.

Trip had flirted with Malcolm from almost the moment he set eyes upon the man. But Malcolm seemed oblivious to every advance. So he finally asked Malcolm, point blank, if Malcolm was interested. Sometimes the direct approach was the only thing that worked with him.

In retrospect asking Malcolm in the crowded messhall hadn't been the most opportune place.

Malcolm had blinked at him, long lashes fluttering over those beautiful eyes that held Trip enthralled whenever he spoke to him. Then those eyes had darted around nervously, a slightly panicked sheen to them. A few stuttering false starts and then a hushed, "I'm sorry, I'm straight," was choked out. Malcolm paled, as if he wished he could take the words back, then bolted, dinner unfinished.

Trip had sat there in shock. He never would have guessed.

About ten percent of Earth's population was straight. It was just a fact of nature that not everyone was born bisexual.

Trip still teased and flirted with Malcolm—after two weeks of Malcolm avoiding him after his disastrous confession. Trip had finally shown up at Malcolm's door with a bottle of rum and wanting some straight talk, even though straight was a disappointing fact. They had drank and Malcolm had almost—but not quite—pleaded with Trip not to feel uncomfortable. Trip was his best friend on the ship, and Malcolm didn't want to lose that.

Trip reassured him that they were still friends. But Malcolm still wouldn't talk about it, sidestepping all of Trip's rather personal questions, and Trip finally dropped the subject. But it still didn't feel right. Trip's hetdar had never been wrong before—and Malcolm had never set it off in the past. He couldn't believe that it was just his bad luck to have fallen in love with someone whose sexual preference differed from the majority. However, Trip had never been heterophobic. His parents had raised him better than that, after all.

Trip watched Malcolm sip his drink. Malcolm had pulled his chair close and his arm brushed against Trip's as he lowered his glass. The glass froze in mid-motion as Malcolm looked up and laughed in disbelief at the ending of Travis' tall tale. Phlox listened with interest to the young boomer, a large boozy smile affixed to his face.

Trip's initial frustration that the two had come along had changed to enjoyment. Malcolm had been friends with Travis before their assignment to Enterprise and Malcolm was relaxed around him. Trip was pretty sure Travis knew Malcolm's secret. Travis had seen a lot growing up—different customs, different species—and was incredibly open minded. No wonder Malcolm felt comfortable around him.

And Phlox was a pleasant surprise. Funny and even more talkative with a few drinks in him, his alien outlook was fascinating, as was his frank observations about their crewmates. He was a great source of gossip, and hilariously catty at times.

Trip glanced down at his drink. Malcolm was teasing Travis about his story. Trip listened to that lyrical accent and sighed.

Phlox rose unsteadily to his feet. "Did any of you notice where the little Denobulan's room was?" he asked cheerfully.

Malcolm and Travis snickered.

"Here, I'll show you," Travis said with a grin. He looped a friendly arm through Phlox's. "I have to use the little Boomer's room myself," Travis chuckled.

Trip laughed out loud. The pair wove away on unstable legs. Trip shot a look at Malcolm. He was grinning that huge smile that made him look boyish and devilish at the same time.

God, he was gorgeous. His hair, his eyes, his face and that sinewy compact body…

Such a waste, Trip thought sadly.

That's when a pretty young woman approached Malcolm and started to flirt with him, and whatever was left of Trip's good mood evaporated. He could only take a few minutes of it before he rose, excusing himself to get another drink. He turned and crashed into one of the natives, knocking the musical instrument from his hand and upsetting the man's drink. The glass went flying, spilling its contents over the man and his three friends.

The man cursed and pushed Trip back, sending him sprawling into their table. Malcolm sprang from his chair and the girl squealed and fled. The alien grabbed Trip by the shoulder and hauled him upright again. Malcolm stepped in and twisted the alien's arm away from Trip. The man howled in pain and his three friends converged on Malcolm.

When Phlox and Travis finally pushed their way through the on- looking crowd, the table and two chairs were broken, glassware shattered on the floor, and the four natives lying around in various states of injuries and consciousness. Malcolm was sucking on his knuckle, the skin split, and Trip was looking bewildered and rubbing his shoulder.

Two very large bouncers and the bartender sauntered over.

"I can explain—" Trip started and the bartender shook his head.

"Self defensive—that's not a problem."

Trip heaved a breath of relief.

"But the problem is, that those four," and the bartender indicated to the mostly insensate group on the floor, "aren't going to be in any shape to do their job now."

One of the bouncers bent over and picked up the musical instrument, which, miraculously, had escaped unscathed.

The bartender gave them a rather menacing smirk. "I hope you boys know how to play."

***

After Phlox had done some hasty first aid on the four injured aliens, the bartender led them out a back door and up three flights of stairs. They had no choice but to follow, the two enormous bouncers following closely. The bartender ushered them into a massive and festively decorated ballroom, leading them to a stage set up in the corner. They followed him up onto the stage, urged on by the bouncers crowding them from behind.

"Find something you can play," the bartender stated, hands gesturing, encompassing the area.

The stage held several musical instruments. Travis drifted over to the drum kit and Phlox was examining what looked to be a large computer console. Malcolm stood close to Trip, eying the bouncers. Trip just knew he was calculating the odds of taking them on, and they weren't in his favor.

Trip reached into his pocket and drew out his harmonica. "This is the only thing I can play," he told the bartender. The man nodded to him and Trip blew a few notes of a blues song. Which, considering their predicament, seemed appropriate.

The man cracked a genuine smile. "That's great! Haven't heard anything like that before—the Minister will be pleased."

"Minister?" Malcolm asked.

"The four you left mangled downstairs were the band for the Minister's niece's wedding. They're the best in all of Saxet—and they certainly can't play now, can they?"

Trip gave Malcolm an accusatory glare.

"I didn't mangle them," Malcolm sulked. Trip raised an eyebrow. "Don't blame this on me, Commander," Malcolm protested. "You started it."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault! It was an accident! You're the one who busted the guy's wrist!" Trip shot back.

"And that stout fellow's nose," Phlox added cheerfully as he played a few notes on the console. It sounded like a synthesizer.

"And gave that guy a concussion. I think you dislocated the other guy's jaw with the chair," Travis piped up. He played a couple of flourishes then a rim shot and grinned.

Malcolm studied his boots. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled.

He looked so miserable that Trip just want to put his arms around him and give him a comforting hug. Malcolm loved his job, but it bothered him to no end when he wound up hurting someone. Bless his conflicted little soul, Trip thought fondly.

Truth be told, Trip secretly liked watching Malcolm fight. People tended to underestimate their armory officer; he could be one vicious son of a bitch when riled. Of course Trip worried about Malcolm during an altercation, but it was so damn fun to see him brawl. The way he'd throw himself fearlessly into the midst of battle, that cute little hop he'd have to do in order to punch a taller opponent in the face, the contrite look as he heard a bone snap.

"They'll be fine, Lieutenant," Phlox chirped. "Nothing that a few splints and bandages and some bed rest couldn't cure."

"It's all right, Malcolm. I'm not blaming you." Malcolm looked up at Trip, trying to discern if Trip was being sincere.

Trip knew Malcolm would be the first to step up and take responsibility for his actions, but he had a tendency to get bent out of shape if he thought he was being censured unfairly. For all of Malcolm's attempts to present a hard impervious front, Trip had noticed he was a little sensitive at being reprimanded, taking it much too much to heart.

That vulnerable center was just another reason Trip found him so appealing.

"So what do you play?" the bartender asked, interrupting Trip's pleasure at gazing into Malcolm's eyes.

Malcolm's eyes narrowed as he looked at the alien. "I'm not a bloody troubadour—"

The two immense bouncers instantly moved forward, looming over Trip and Malcolm. Trip gave Malcolm a pleading look.

Malcolm reluctantly moved and picked up something that looked like a guitar crossed with a UFO, knobs and dials adorning it. He strummed it half-heartedly. The bouncers cracked their knuckles and flexed their arms, making muscles bulge. Malcolm's head ducked immediately and he played a fast and complicated riff, then looked at Trip, face crimson in embarrassment.

"Excellent!" the bartender beamed. "Now, let me show you where you can get cleaned up and changed."

"Oooh, this sounds like it'll be fun!" Phlox exclaimed and he smiled that disturbing grin.

Trip listened to Malcolm mutter imprecations all the way to the dressing room.

***

"So you had to borrow the band's costumes and dress up like monkeys?" Jon asked.

"Well, yeah. Old wedding tradition. 'Cept Malcolm. He had to wear the other costume."

Jon licked his lips, feeling his groin stir again. Oh God, yes. Malcolm in that outfit. He re-crossed his legs and tugged at his uniform.

"How come Malcolm had to wear that one?"

"Tradition. Have to have a cat. And Malcolm was the only one small enough to fit into the cat suit. Never did find out why the wedding party's serenaded by monkeys and a cat." Trip scratched his head and his monkey ears flopped a bit. He shrugged. "We had a hell of time getting Malcolm into it though—"

"I can imagine," Jon said. They must have had to oil him down to slip that costume on. The image of a naked Malcolm covered in oil didn't improve Jon's situation however. He shifted again, his uniform even tighter.

The costume fit Malcolm like a second skin, short dark grey fur covering everything, except his belly and chest. That was a smooth dazzling white, clinging so tightly that every muscle was outlined in all their well-defined glory. The tail even moved, just like the ears, thanks to some high tech miniature sensing devices built into all the costumes. And the make up—whoever had done it had made those grey-blue eyes stand out, utterly feline looking and his mouth appearing to have a permanent cat-got-the-cream grin.

Sexiest damn cat Jon had ever seen and it made Jon want to fly a shuttle down, grab Malcolm, set him on his lap and pet his armory officer until he purred.

Jon's lower regions began to protest the lack of room.

"Yeah, he took one look at it and tried to climb out the window."

"I thought you were three stories up," Jon said, appalled.

"We were. Phlox and Travis had to sit on him so I could strip him and pull that thing on him."

Jon's eyes rolled back in his head for a brief moment. He could picture a half-naked Travis, sweat glistening on his dark flawless skin and his ample muscles flexing as he strained to straddle a bucking and squirming Malcolm, arms pinned above his head and naked. Greased up. And Trip "pulling that thing on him".

The image of where Phlox was in all of this brought Jon out of his reverie. Although Phlox's eight-inch tongue had always done something for him…especially after seeing that vid…

"He wasn't too happy about the whole situation," Trip continued, unaware of Jon's momentary lack of attention. "So we asked the bartender to send up a batch of drinks. Thought we could get Malcolm to calm down and loosen up a little. Try to make the best of the situation."

Hmm. Malcolm had looked sober. Well, until later.

"Did it work?"

"Well, me and Travis and Phlox certainly tied one on. Malcolm was feeling a little queasy. Stage fright and all," Trip said in a confidential tone. "He wouldn't drink anything—swore he'd be puking left and right." Trip turned around, searching for something, and his tail shot out. When it came back into view it was clutching a bottle by its neck, and Trip took it, acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "And it's a good thing he didn't; bad enough he was dry heaving beforehand—in that outfit, it looked like he was tryin' to cough up a hairball."

Jon stared at Trip's tail. That had been a little freaky. But it just emphasized the location of Trip's mouth watering ass, which was covered with that same smooth silvery blue material as his chest, adhering tightly to those rounded mounds of mind blowing pulchritude.

Jon had a feeling he'd need another cold shower soon. "So that explains the first part of the reception," he said, a bit distracted by the prominent, and fabulous, display of Trip's butt.

"Yeah. Which led to the second part." Trip turned back to face Jon, harmonica in one hand.

"What happened to change things?"

Trip fiddled with his harmonica for a moment, then took a long drink from the bottle and became quite loquacious.

***

The wedding ceremony had been very nice, Trip thought as he and his crewmates made their way up to the stage.

As the guests arrived, the Enterprise crewmen had been directed to line up at entrance of the little chapel adjacent to the ballroom with Travis in the back, then Phlox, then Trip and Malcolm in front.

The guests performed the customary wedding greeting to the four.

Which was basically stroking and rubbing and petting them. The guests went down the line in a continuous flow and by the time the last person had finished, the inebriated monkeys were in a high state of arousal. Seems like the smooth fabric in the fur-less parts of the suits, when touched, contained sensors that emitted some sort of energy field which human skin found very…stimulating.

Trip caught something about it as sending best wishes for the bridal couple's future progeny, and he figured it was maybe like rubbing a Buddha's belly or something. The guests certainly were enthusiastic about stroking the cat for luck.

As each guest caressed Malcolm in that white area from chest to stomach, Trip could see him melting. As time wore on, Malcolm was leaning into Trip for support, head back against Trip's shoulder and eyes closed, a blissed-out deadweight in Trip's arms.

So the guests just stroked Trip's butt instead. Which Trip found vastly titillating. He could feel his erection jutting against Malcolm's ass, but his friend didn't seem to notice. Or mind. Trip even gave Malcolm a couple of rubs in between guests, just to get into the spirit of the happy occasion, of course. Although he really liked the sound Malcolm made in response.

Trip was a little disappointed when the last guest was seated and the ceremony was about to start. Because Malcolm eventually straightened up and reluctantly pulled away. His eyes meet Trip's with a glazed 'just been fucked to nirvana and please, sir, may I have some more?' look. But it was the small dreamy smile of pure sated pleasure on his face that did Trip in.

Malcolm had stayed relaxed throughout the ceremony, the four of them squished into the back row of a pew. In order for them all to fit, Trip had to rest his arms on the back of the seating with Travis snuggled in close on one side and Malcolm on the other. Trip certainly didn't mind Travis' hand on his thigh. Phlox didn't seem to mind where Travis' other hand was either.

And for someone who claimed to be straight, Malcolm did a very good imitation of being completely at ease with Trip's arm around him, essentially tucked in tight and cozy next to Trip.

Of course, maybe it was because Trip was a gentleman; he'd never force his attentions on someone when it was unwanted.

On the other hand, the more Trip thought about it, the more there was something that just didn't seem right. Especially since Malcolm didn't seem to mind when Trip's hand would snake down now and then, giving that white portion on Malcolm's chest a little caress. Just to keep him calm and not worrying about their upcoming performance. At least that's what Trip told himself.

When the wedding ceremony was finished and while the guests were congratulating the newly joined couple, the four were herded back into the ballroom and toward the stage. And that's when Malcolm's started getting nervous again. Trip tried to distract him by asking everyone when they had learned to play.

They were surprised to find out that Phlox could play at least sixteen different instruments. Some of which Trip had never heard of before, but then again, they were Denobulan.

Travis had told them that his mother had given him a drum kit on his sixth birthday and he'd been playing steadily ever since. Of course, his parents had it set up in the bowels of their ship, so as not to disturb other people. Which had just made Travis want to play loud enough so that they could hear him up in bridge. He said he thought he'd accomplished that quite a few times, considering the headaches his brother Paul would come home with.

Malcolm had climbed the stairs as if he was heading toward an appointment with the hangman's noose. Trip put his arm around Malcolm's shoulder. "When did you learn to play?"

Malcolm stared at his feet as he replied. "Mum decided I should take violin lessons when I was eight. Two weeks into it, my Aunt Sherry heard me practicing, tore the violin from my hands and took me straight away to trade it in. Said I would ruin her reputation if I continued."

"Her reputation?"

"She has doctorates in music history and theory, plays four different instruments, and has written three best selling autobiographies."

"Best sellers?" Trip asked, surprised.

"Yeah. She used to be a journalist. Went touring with some of the hugest groups when she was younger. Her last book was I Did the Band". Malcolm shrugged. "A kiss and tell of her escapades with some of the most famous names in music."

"Sherry Nelson is your aunt?" Travis exclaimed. Malcolm nodded and picked up the alien guitar.

"I read all those—she's the biggest groupie on the planet! She's screwed everyone and their sister!" Travis said, eyes wide and looking at Malcolm with a new respect.

"Yeah. She got her girlfriend at the time to teach me. Candie Slice." Malcolm fiddled with the alien instrument, twisting dials and testing the sounds. He strummed a few notes and it sounded like a mandolin. He tinkered with another dial and played an easy chord. Full on electric guitar. Another turn of the dial and it was acoustic. Malcolm smiled slightly, distracted by the sounds he could create.

"Candie Slice taught you to play! Oh man!" Travis gushed. "She's classic! No one's ever been able to play like her since!"

"Wait, who the hell's Candie Slice?" Trip asked, confused. His taste ran more to blues and country. Stereotypical he knew, considering his accent, but that's what he liked.

"Just a guitar goddess," Travis sighed. "Oh, man, Malcolm, you knew her."

"Still do. She and Aunt Sherry were married about ten years ago," Malcolm said absently, still investigating. He decided that the setting which made it sound like a sitar was interesting.

Travis practically squealed in fanboy joy. He started pestering Malcolm to get him an autograph, but they were interrupted by the smiling bartender and his two burly bouncers.

"Ready, boys? Instrumental only until the cutting of the cake, you take a break, then you're on again so the dancing can began. If you're lucky, the bride will ask you to join in the festivities." He winked at Trip. "I hope you boys can sing." He walked away, his ever-present gigantic shadows trailing behind him.

"Sing?" Malcolm croaked.

***

"Oh," Jon said. Apparently that's what young people nowadays called that.

"Yeah. Phlox and Travis had to sit on him again to keep him from—"

"Jumping out the window," Jon finished with Trip.

Trip nodded. "Travis volunteered to do any singing. He's got a real nice voice. We told Malcolm he could hang out in the back."

"But…Malcolm…he…" Jon trailed off, distracted again, as he watched Trip wrap those full lips around the mouth of the bottle.

"Well, that was after the cake and stuff."

"Oh, for Christssake, don't tell me the cake was drugged." Well, that would explain the uninhibited nature of his crewmen, Jon thought gloomily. Damn. He'd already half convinced himself that he might have a shot at Malcolm. Or Trip. Or Travis. Hell, he hadn't been laid in ages—he'd take Phlox, especially after seeing that tongue of his in action.

"Course not," Trip said as if it was the silliest thing he'd ever heard.

"So he had an allergic reaction or something?" Jon asked, still confused by the display his armory officer had put on.

"No."

"You finally got him drunk off his ass," Jon said. It was about the only other reasonable conclusion he could reach to explain why Malcolm acted so out of character.

"No. You gonna let me finish tellin' the story?"

"Okay," Jon pouted. He had to cross his legs again when Trip bent over to deposit his empty bottle.

***

Trip played his heart out for two hours while the guests ate and talked. He was skeptical at first when his crewmates swore they either knew the songs he was planning on performing or that they could fake it. But halfway into the first hour, his skepticism turned to amazement.

They backed him up as if they'd been playing together for years. They all either knew the piece or Trip only had to hum a few bars of an unfamiliar tune, and then they improvised easily.

Phlox could make his console sound like a whole orchestra—pianos, trumpets, saxophones—anything Trip needed to accompany him, Phlox could replicate. And Phlox's knowledge of Earth music was surprisingly extensive. He said it was due to the influence of a colleague he corresponded with regularly.

Travis never missed a beat, going with the different styles and rhythms of the different blues and jazz pieces Trip selected, playing just loud enough so that Trip's harmonica could be easily heard.

And Malcolm just jammed along, head down and unmoving, eyes squeezed shut. Weirdest damn thing, Trip thought as he darted another glance at his friend. Trip always moved to the music—he couldn't help it. Even Phlox was swaying, monkey ears moving, keeping the beat. And Travis was a flurry of motion, his tail bopping along as a counterpoint to his drumming. But Malcolm was a statue, tense and frozen, only his hands moving to play the instrument. His tail didn't even twitch.

Trip figured it was the worse case of stage fright he'd ever seen.

As Trip wound down the second hour, he was glad to see them getting ready to cut the cake. He was tired; he hadn't played that much nearly nonstop in a long time and his lips were getting sore. Trip spotted the bartender and his two brawny but silent compatriots, now with a distinguished looking man in tow. The bartender gave Trip a nod to finish up and headed their way.

Trip ended the song with a flourish and was happy to hear the rest of his crewmates end on the same note. "Time to take five, guys," Trip said, and took a long swig from one of the endless bottles of ale the bartender had so kindly provided to everyone on stage. Travis stood and stretched, then ambled over to Phlox. They chatted and drank, hot and thirsty after their exertions.

Trip thought that on the whole they were pretty damn good, and wondered if Jon maybe would let them put on a show for the crew sometime.

Then he took another look at Malcolm and figured that would never happen. He was still rooted to the spot, body immobile, but now his tail was lashing back and forth fretfully.

About five minutes after putting their costumes on, they had discovered that they all could control the movements of their tails and ears. Phlox theorized that they contained biological sensors which detected electrical impulses, such as the latest advance in prosthetic limbs for amputees. But this was much more sophisticated, the motions more natural and lifelike, the sensors giving them enjoyable tactile feedback just like the smooth fabric of their costumes, the ability to direct their tails' actions and actually grab something, remarkable.

And if Trip could read Malcolm's tail correctly, his friend was under a lot of stress right now.

He sauntered over to Malcolm and threw a friendly arm around his shoulder. He felt the jerk of alarm as Malcolm raised his head, eyes snapping open wide and dilated with dread. Trip could see beads of sweat on Malcolm's upper lip, a few at his temples, and could feel the slight tremor shaking his body.

He'd seen Malcolm face down some of the most hair-raising aliens without showing an iota of fear, but Trip could tell this was damn near killing him with terror. Any amusement Trip may have felt vanished and he felt terrible and a touch guilty for getting them into this in the first place. Even though everyone else was having the time of their lives.

Trip let his hand slide down Malcolm's back, rubbing it, trying to ease the stiff tension he could feel in it. "You're doing fine. You're pretty good," he said sincerely. That got a faint, sickly smile out of Malcolm. Trip continued his massage, running his hand up and down the fur covering Malcolm's back, shoulders and neck. He felt Malcolm relax slightly.

Trip offered the bottle to him. "I don't want you getting dehydrated—might as well kill two birds with one stone—you gotta unwind a little, Malcolm, or you're gonna snap in two."

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. It came out barely audible.

Trip opened his mouth to argue, when they were interrupted by the bartender. He introduced the man with him as their host, the Minister.

"My niece is extremely pleased! You four are the most exotic group she's ever heard. She can't wait to hear you sing," he said to Malcolm, giving him a pat on the chest.

"Me?" It came out low and raspy.

"Why yes! The gmarr," he indicated to Malcolm's costume, "always sings to the newly wed couple." He beamed at the bartender. "Just like in our day, eh, Tuece? The things kids think are new…" He smiled at Malcolm. "Of course, you'll have to be very loud, son."

"Loud?" That came out even lower and hoarser.

"Screaming," the bartender nodded, looking pleased.

Travis walked up with Phlox. "Hey, just scream as loud as your Aunt Candie and you've got it made."

"Hope you know how to dance," the bartender said with a smug grin to Malcolm.

Malcolm tried to make a run for it, but Phlox grabbed his tail and tripped him, then Trip and Travis sat on him.

***

"Well, he certainly was…loud," Jon said. And holy mother, could he dance, he thought, a bit lasciviously. Oh, god, the way he had moved…

"Yeah. But was there any doubt? You've heard us arguing before," Trip replied. "He can holler louder than that survival instructor we had in Australia. Remember that guy?"

Oh, hell yes, Jon remembered him. And the last night he had spent with the man. Jon's uniform began to strain at the seams.

He really, really needed to get laid. Soon.

"So what happened next, Trip?" Jon asked, his voice a little high pitched as he squirmed around in his chair.

"Well, this is where it got interesting—"

***

They let Malcolm up after his dry heaving subsided, figuring he was too weak to try to make a break for it again. Trip hustled him to a corner and sat him down. He was sweaty and pale under the make-up and Trip sent Travis for a glass of water, even though he reiterated once again that he thought something a little stronger would calm Malcolm's nerves. After all, he, Travis and Phlox were perfectly at ease. Half in the bag, but perfectly calm. Even enjoying themselves.

One of the pretty bridesmaids came around with four slices of cake, one for each of them. It looked delicious and Trip and Phlox dug in, hungry. Malcolm just looked at the cake and turned slightly green. Travis came back with a glass of water and Malcolm gulped it down. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Trip took his cake and moved away from Malcolm in an attempt to give his friend some breathing room. Phlox and Travis followed and the three sat on the edge of the stage, chatting away. Trip cut another bit of cake and his fork hit something solid. He carefully prodded around it. "What the hell is this?" he asked, and plucked something out.

"Oh yeah! The rings!" Travis said, testing his own cake with his fork. He found his and picked it out. It was copper colored and of a medium thickness. "I was talking to one of the waiters—they're for some observance afterwards. When it's time, they start glowing. If you don't want to participate you put it in your shoe for luck. He called it a Pennae."

Phlox found his and slipped it on his finger. He looked at his hand, admiring it. "Did he say what this ceremony entails, Travis?"

"Nope. He just smiled and said he'd be wearing his."

They slipped on their rings, ate their cake, talked and drank. Trip flirted with Travis and Phlox, both of whom flirted back, and for the first time Trip noticed the allure of both men. Travis was impossibly handsome with the attraction of youthful enthusiasm, tempered by a worldly air. But Phlox had his own fascinating charm. He was certainly intelligent and made Trip laugh. He had those stunning limpid blue eyes, and of course, that eight-inch tongue.

Trip always did like sex with aliens.

He finished off his ale and was about to make a move on both Travis and Phlox, when he felt his thigh being nudged by a foot. He squinted up and Malcolm was standing there, instrument in hand and a reckless grin on his face.

"Our bartending friend just told me our break's over. Let's tear the house down."

***

Trip decided that they not only tore the house down, they burnt it to the ground and stomped all over the ashes. And the wedding party loved it.

Malcolm had, with a surprising confidence, reeled off a play list consisting of the loudest, most raucous songs imaginable. The only reason why Trip was familiar with any of them was that Starfleet Command had banned them all six ways from Sunday as inappropriate material to exchange with any alien culture. Their content had been deemed much too inflammatory or obscene.

Oddly enough, Phlox and Travis could play them all.

Even a sheet and a half to the wind, Trip figured that singing dirty songs wasn't the best idea. But Malcolm smoothly explained that since none of the guests had a UT, they wouldn't understand a word of it anyway, and if he were going to have to make a complete ass out of himself, he'd might as well do it while playing the only music he knew how.

Trip couldn't argue with that.

They started with one of Travis' personal favorites, the Maching Lords' brand new hit, the one that had been banned in most of North America and all of the Lunar Colony.

Trip felt himself blushing as he shook the Saxet equivalent of maracas, since a harmonica definitely wasn't part of this particular set. But he couldn't keep his eyes off of Malcolm. It was as if watching a completely different person.

Malcolm played with a riotous zeal, a whirlwind of constant motion, clearly singing the salacious lyrics, easily heard over Travis' suddenly ear splitting percussion and Phlox's astounding ability to turn his console into a ten piece back up section. Watching Malcolm pace about the stage, his voice rising and falling with the intensity of each song, it hit Trip that the way Malcolm habitually stood, that sway back posture, hips cocked forward and slouching slightly—which had always struck Trip as completely wrong for someone supposedly so proper and military—embodied the perfect 'rock star' stance.

Of course, the skin-tight cat suit made it all the more provocative. Especially when Malcolm started dancing about five songs in, after the bartender and his bouncers cut their way through the dancing guests to gently remind the gmarr to start moving.

Trip had never thought that Malcolm was particularly graceful. There had always been a bit of an awkward, non-athletic clumsiness to his friend. Except when he ran. Malcolm could run beautifully and Trip always thought he'd make a good wide receiver—not very big, but fast and sure footed. Trip figured Malcolm probably had to run a lot as a kid.

But that puppy dog gracelessness vanished when Malcolm put the alien guitar down and started another song, this one slower, the lyrics absolutely filthy. He was fluid, performing complicated, yet extremely sultry moves without a hint of his usual stiff self- consciousness.

The next song was fast and Malcolm went into high gear, bouncing around the stage, performing back flips, shaking his ass, and finally moving his hips like a piston in overdrive all the while screaming about revolution and bloodshed. While having lots of sex in between overthrowing the government and slaughtering all the members of its fascist regime.

Trip remembered that one had been banned in Florida after that ballot mix-up a couple of years ago.

Travis had a big lustful smile on his sweaty face as he pounded even faster on his drums, watching every liquid move Malcolm made. Phlox's tongue was hanging out about four inches, eyes glued to the armory officer's ass. And it took all of Trip's discipline not to strip naked and bend over in front of Malcolm. The man's stamina was amazing. Trip was sure he'd have thrown his back out moving like that.

They continued for over two hours, and Trip finally stopped shaking his maracas, mesmerized by the show Malcolm was putting on and simply ogled his energetic friend.

Trip had to admit that Malcolm owned the room. Especially if the small pile of ladies' (and several pair of men's) underwear scattered at his feet about the stage were any indication. Trip figured it was the combination of that luscious growling timbre as he sang, along with the sinuous movements whenever he danced. Although the exuberant abandon in which Malcolm would occasionally dive off the stage only to be caught by the thrashing crowd and borne aloft, the Saxets rubbing him all over as they passed him along, seemed to thrill the guests to no end. And Malcolm. It was kind of evident as he'd leap back onto the stage, eyes hugely dilated with a grin to match, snatching up his instrument once again and playing it, using it for much needed cover for his lower regions.

The song ended and the last one started. The dance floor was one writhing mass throbbing to the seductive rhythms Phlox was laying down. Malcolm made his way towards Trip, playing fast and loud, a teasing glint in his eye as he sang about rum, sodomy, and the lash. The music came to a close with a thunderous crescendo and Malcolm smashed the alien guitar into the wall behind Trip.

It exploded, feedback squealing from it, and the guests cheered and howled their approval, excited by this exotic alien display. Malcolm was breathing hard, wearing a smile as big and sweet as a kid who had just unexpectedly hit the winning home run.

Trip was struck at how surprised, but happy, Malcolm looked, and he wished he could put that expression on Malcolm's face every day.

The lights dimmed and recorded Saxet music came out of the speakers, the beat erotic. Trip noticed small multicolored lights sprinkling the darkened crowd as everyone started dancing once more, hands waving in the air, rings glowing. Trip looked down and saw that his ring was glowing as well.

Malcolm was studying the ring on his own finger, its glittering color a perfect match to Trip's. He pulled his fur covered hood down, hair wavy and damp with sweat, mussed into small soft curls at his temples and the back of his neck. He ran a hand through it absently, ruffling it further, then looked up, startled, as a fine mist of iridescent bubbles began to descend from the ceiling.

Trip watched him laugh, enchanted. It took all of the engineer's willpower not to kiss him right there, Malcolm's eyes shining, a delighted smile on his face, his whole being just radiating contentment.

Trip handed Malcolm his bottle of ale. "Excellent job, Malcolm. You knocked them dead."

That smile turned to one both pleased and embarrassed. Malcolm took the bottle and drained it in one long thirsty draught. He licked his lips and then smiled a bit nervously at Trip.

"Would you…erm…would you like to dance, Trip?" Malcolm asked shyly, his previously confident demeanor vanishing.

Trip couldn't help himself—the cuteness factor was overwhelming. He pulled Malcolm into an embrace and held him, swaying in time to the music, brushing against him. Malcolm relaxed and Trip heard him sigh.

Apparently it was too much for the happy couple, for the bride and groom climbed up onto the stage and started dancing with them. The couple sandwiched them, the bride grinding her pelvis into Malcolm's backside, the groom's front caressing Trip's back and ass, pushing Trip into Malcolm.

Trip's brain overloaded. They were wedged together, their chests and groins rubbing and moving, the fabric on Trip's ass and front sending waves of delight throughout his body, and Malcolm murmuring low sounds of pleasure in Trip's ear.

***

"Trip? Trip?"

Jon's voice called Trip back from the pleasant memory.

Jon had gotten worried. Trip's eyes had glazed over and his monkey tail had gone rigid, standing straight out.

"Huh?" Trip wiped the dopey smile off his face, sat down, and concentrated on his captain.

"I asked what happened to Malcolm to make him act like that." Because, damn. Watching Trip and Malcolm sandwiched between those two attractive Saxets, bumping and grinding against each other, had been the catalyst for Jon's second shower. And first masturbation session.

"That, my dear Captain, is an interesting question." Phlox strode into view. Trip nodded to him and handed him a bottle, his hand lingering on Phlox's.

Phlox was already in full costume and Jon noticed that his chief medical officer was looking pretty good, what with his recent weight loss. As usual, that eight-inch tongue was in the back of Jon's mind. Though he'd like it in the back of somewhere else.

Phlox pulled up a large cozy chair, identical to the one Trip had finally settled in. He sat and took a sip of his drink, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

"Mmmm, that hits the dot."

"Spot, Phlox. Hits the spot," Trip corrected affectionately.

"Ah, yes! Thanks, Trip." He leaned over and gave Trip's hand a little pat.

Jon watched as they stared into each other's eyes for several long moments. It wasn't fair. Trip always got the guy. Or girl. Or alien.

He cleared his throat, fidgeting, a little envious. "So, do you have an answer for my interesting question?"

"Oh, yes, Captain, of course. Sorry." Phlox broke off his gazing match with Trip and settled back comfortably. "Well, as you know, all humans—all beings, really—have a few psychological quirks. Issues about their self-image, relationships, family bonds, self- perceived shortcomings and failings, drives, and most importantly, fears—"

"Emotional baggage," Trip supplied. "All that crap that fucks up your head. And I always figured that Malcolm had a shitload of them."

Phlox chuckled. "We all have this kind of luggage, Captain." Trip grinned, but didn't correct him this time. "Malcolm's no different than the average human. He just seemed to have…a bit more to carry than most."

Jon nodded. He was aware of some of Malcolm's hangups. The man was a perfectionist and a little paranoid, but Jon felt nothing but sympathetic understanding. He'd spoken to Malcolm's parents once that first year out and thought they seemed a little…odd. Add to that the burden of being aquaphobic in a naval family, introverted, and going through life as a closeted straight man in a bisexual world, not to mention a single minded focus on deadly weapons and explosions, Jon sometimes wondered how Malcolm had managed to pass the psych exam all Starfleet personnel had to take.

But he shook that line of thought off. Malcolm was an exceptional officer, and Jon trusted him implicitly.

Plus he was hot and sexy and Jon wanted him even more fervently after seeing the vid. Of course, after that vid, he wanted Trip, Travis and Phlox just as badly.

Hell, he'd take the Ambassador's mother. Even though she was ancient. And not very hot or sexy.

Jon couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten laid and decided it had been much too long.

"So—what are you getting at, Phlox?" Jon said, doubting that even an ice pack on his dick would help at this point. Especially since Trip was lounging back in his chair, legs spread wide and sticking his tongue into the narrow mouth of yet another bottle of ale.

"Well, Captain, apparently Malcolm had some sort of revelation as he was in the depths of a rather nasty anxiety attack. I've analyzed the Saxet water and evidently it reacts in an interesting way with certain physiological responses—"

"I knew he had to be drugged! You said that he wasn't," Jon accused Trip, heart sinking. Damn it. That meant Malcolm was still straight. Probably holed up somewhere, having a nervous breakdown over his behavior. Even though he really seemed to have been enjoying himself at the time.

"I wasn't." Malcolm walked in with Travis, both fully costumed. Phlox and Trip smiled at them. Travis sat in front of Phlox, between the doctor's knees, and Phlox bent down and nuzzled the top of Travis' head, sniffing slightly. Then Jon's eyes nearly fell out of his head as Malcolm snagged a bottle and sauntered over to Trip, leaning down and kissing him.

Trip yanked Malcolm onto his lap, much to Malcolm's surprise. But he recovered instantly, a happy little smirk on his face as he settled himself comfortably sideways, legs thrown across the padded arm of the chair.

"Hey, darlin'. How was your swim?" Trip asked Malcolm, giving his chest a little pet.

"Brilliant. Though for someone raised in space, Travis certainly knows some rather interesting water sports." Malcolm grinned widely and shot a look at Travis.

"I'll have to show you guys a thing or two in the sweet spot sometime," Travis said with a wink.

"Wha?" Jon asked inarticulately. He didn't know quite where to begin. With Malcolm, who had told him he was afraid of drowning, yet was sitting there calmly, playing with Phlox's tail and talking about water sports; or Travis, whose hand was caressing Trip's leg while still being sniffed appreciatively by Phlox, who was moaning with delight as his tail was being manipulated; or Trip, who looked like he was giving head to the bottle of ale while rubbing the stomach of his lapful of a supposedly straight Malcolm Reed.

It was like a fully clothed circle jerk. Or one of Jon's frequent sybaritic fantasies come to life.

Malcolm opened his eyes and smiled at Jon. "I was in perfectly sound mind, Captain. Whatever's in the water essentially gave me an…epiphany of a sorts. Rather like thirty years of therapy crammed into your brain all at once."

Phlox nodded. "Remarkable, really. I took extensive readings on Malcolm, and there were and are no chemicals, bacteria, spores, or any type of alien influence present. His stage fright had caused an immense upheaval in his endocrinological system and the water precipitated a conformational change which allowed it to interact productively with other biochemical components, leading ultimately to an alteration in his physiologic and psychological state."

Jon gaped at them, trying to wade through the medical babble.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" he finally sputtered as it filtered through. "Water that gets rid of phobias? You might as well tell me that there are alien space Nazis, or that T'Pol will start injecting herself with rocks to get in touch with her emotions!"

His crewmen laughed at the absurdity of Jon's declaration.

"It's rather difficult to explain, Captain," Phlox said after he stopped chuckling. "And it's a little more complicated, and perversely, simpler, than that."

"I didn't feel any different," Malcolm explained sincerely, pulling himself upright and away from Trip's soothing ministrations. "I was completely terrified one moment and then the next—it was like a lightning bolt going off in my head and this memory…I remembered something and…well, it was as if a line of dominoes were falling. One fear leading to another…it just allowed me to look at a few things rationally," Malcolm finished then looked at Trip. "And made me realize what a silly bugger I've been," he murmured. He gave Trip a surprisingly tender kiss, which the engineer returned, a look of sheer joy on his face.

Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times. "But. But…but…how does it make a straight guy bi all of a sudden?" he blurted out, then cringed. Trip had told him in confidence about Malcolm's little admission.

Malcolm frowned at Trip. "You outed me?" he chided.

Trip looked chagrined. "It made me real depressed when you told me. You know I've always had a thing for you. So I kinda moaned about it a little to Jon." He didn't say he had pretty much always ran straight to Jon to pour out all his misery. Jon was his best friend after all, and a damn good shoulder to cry on when he needed it. "I'm sorry," he added, and he began fondling Malcolm's stomach once more.

"'S'okay," Malcolm mumbled, eyes drifting shut. Trip smirked slightly as Malcolm sunk back down across him, well on his way to dissolving into a puddle again. Trip thought perhaps he could talk their bartending friend into letting him keep Malcolm's costume so he could study those sensors—if he could replicate them he could put them in all of Malcolm's uniforms and win every argument just by petting the armory officer.

"To be honest, Malcolm, while I watching the vid, I think I would have pegged you as straight going by the way you acted with those women," Jon said, trying to cover for Trip. Because that's what friends did. Even if you wanted to make hot monkey love to them.

It took a few moments for that to sink in, but when it did, Malcolm sat up straight, a look of alarm on his face. "Vid? You…a…you saw…oh, dear god…"

***

Looking back, Trip couldn't quite remember when he had been separated from Malcolm or how he'd been divested of his costume, but there he was, naked as the day he was born.

People all around him were in various states of undress, making love or watching. Travis and one of the bridesmaids were kissing passionately, while Phlox and a groomsman were getting quite familiar with each other.

The groom was planting small, fiery kisses down Trip's spine and he groaned as he felt a warm slippery finger gently playing between his cheeks.

Malcolm was flat on his back on a table that had been hastily cleared, with the bride sitting astride his face. Trip could hear her moans of ecstasy and he opened his eyes in time to see her lean forward and engulf Malcolm's cock in her mouth. He heard a muffled "bloody hell!" and saw Malcolm grab her ass, kneading in rhythm to her bobbing head. Then Trip's own eyes closed again as one of the bouncer's knelt in front of Trip and mimicked the bride's movements on Trip's dick.

When Trip came back to himself, his orgasm vibrant, the bouncer had sucked him dry and the groom had fucked him thoroughly. The bubbles were still swirling in the air, making everyone slick and wet, a natural lubrication. Good thing too, because there was a lot of action going on around him which was much easier to do when slippery.

It was Trip's first orgy and he was determined to make the most of it.

He checked his shipmates. Phlox had moved on to a pair of twins, one male, one female, and they were a tangle of limbs. Travis was balls deep in the backside of one of the young waiters. And Malcolm had one of the bride's friends riding him, the bride still on Malcolm's face, though she was now suckling at the perfect breast of her girlfriend. One of Malcolm's hands was pinching the bride's nipple, rolling it between his fingers, the other hand still massaging her ass, his hips pumping. The two women shrieked in pleasure at the same time, and Trip could just make out a muted roar from Malcolm as he convulsed several times.

The women slowly dismounted and stood, supporting each other, all smiles. They bent over and kissed Malcolm deeply, taking turns.

Trip staggered over to Malcolm, legs still rubbery. The women moved off, stealing one last kiss.

Trip had always wondered what Malcolm would look like after making love. He was even more gorgeous than Trip had imagined—his body glistening and slick from the bubbles that were still misting down upon them. The make-up had been washed away and his features were angelic, a tiny smile playing upon his lips. As Trip gazed down at his friend, he once again wished he was the one who had put that look on Malcolm's face.

Trip didn't know how long he stood there, just watching Malcolm. Eventually those long lashes fluttered as Malcolm slowly opened his eyes. They were a little sleepy, but seemed bluer and brighter than usual. Those beautiful eyes then widened, and Trip felt a wave of pure adoration when they focused on him and that enormous smile appeared, directed at Trip and Trip alone.

Malcolm dragged the corner of the tablecloth across his face and sat up. He stared at Trip, Cheshire cat grin still in place. "I have a confession to make, Trip."

Trip watched as Malcolm leaned forward, face inches from his own. "And what would that be, Malcolm?" Trip asked quietly, mesmerized by those clear blue eyes.

"I'm not actually straight. It's just that…I'm—"

***

"A virgin?" Jon echoed, unbelieving.

"Well, with men, obviously. It was easier to pretend to be straight—hardly anyone takes the piss at you if you're straight," Malcolm protested, still embarrassed and a little irritated. "But a virgin's fair game. In more ways than one," he added in a low mutter.

"Virgin?" Jon repeated, suddenly very hard. So what he had seen, on the vid…

"I had some issues," Malcolm admitted reluctantly.

"And they were worked out when you had your 'epiphany'?" Jon asked, hopes rising.

"Yeah. My aquaphobia, my qualms of having sex with another man, performing in public—I realized they all stemmed from an incident that happened when I was a child…" Malcolm trailed off, and Trip wrapped his arms around Malcolm protectively, concerned. This was the first he'd heard of it.

"My god, Malcolm, you weren't—" Jon faltered, shocked.

"No! No, nothing like that. Just walked in on my father and my Uncle Archie—though he's not really my uncle—he's my father's partner. My mother insisted on a seventy-five year marriage contract."

Jon was intrigued. "That's really unusual." It was almost unheard of—Jon's parents had had a one-year contract, which his mother had declined to renew. Trip's parents had the standard five-year contract, but they always renewed it promptly. Even though they were bisexual like the majority of the population, they loved each other and were very happy together.

Malcolm shrugged. "Yeah. Anyhow, you know my father's very keen on the Reed naval tradition."

Jon nodded. Yes, he knew that from his brief conversation with the man a few years ago.

"Well, he wanted to have children to carry on that heritage and wanted to enhance the Reed lineage by marrying a descendent of a famous English naval officer."

Jon looked puzzled for a moment then put it together. "Sherry Nelson—your mother's sister? Your mother's family is descended from Horatio Nelson?" Jon was impressed.

Malcolm smiled an odd little smile. "That's what my father thought. But actually, my mother's family is from the Ulster Nelsons—largely con men, radicals and a few outright lunatics. She's a bit of a blag artist herself. She scammed him into that marriage contract and there's nothing he can do to break it." He fiddled with his bottle a bit, not looking up. "So after Maddy was born, he met Archie. And last night, I suddenly remembered that one day when I was about six, I wandered in on them."

"They were making love?" Jon asked sympathetically. That could be traumatic for a young child.

"It was…" Malcolm glanced up with a funny look on his face, one that Jon couldn't quite read. Malcolm lowered his head again. "My father was stark naked, feet bound, hands tied behind his back." He took another sip of his ale and burst out laughing, startling Jon.

"He was on his knees in our plastic wading pool with a dildo the size of Big Ben up his arse. I startled them; he slipped and bloody well nearly drowned. Archie barely reached him in time—between the stiletto heels and the outfit he had on…" Malcolm was laughing hard now, scarcely able to continue. The rest of his crewmates were staring at him as if he'd just become a shape-shifting alien.

"The whole thing scared me half to death—I ran out the door screaming bloody murder and smacked right into the wall. I woke up two days later in hospital with a crashing headache and no memory at all of what happened. Father had already shipped out and three weeks later I completely freaked when mum filled the wading pool for Maddy and me. And let's not even discuss how I felt whenever I thought about sex with another man when I grew older…" That set him off again and it was hopeless to get anything intelligible out of him after that.

Trip guffawed long and loud, and hugged Malcolm, kissing him on the temple. Phlox and Travis collapsed together at Trip's feet in a pile of mad giggling.

Malcolm was leaning back into Trip, trying to catch his breath. They looked at each other and burst out laughing again.

"My god, Malcolm, your family's nuts!" Trip gasped.

Malcolm nodded, laughing louder. "Yeah, and to top it off, Maddy actually is straight!"

That set them all laughing again and Travis pulled Malcolm off Trip's lap, hugging him and planting a kiss on his forehead. Trip set his bottle down and joined the pile on the floor, trying to embrace all three men at once. Jon finally joined the laughter, although there was a faint hint of wistfulness in it, the last part of the vid playing in his mind.

***

A virgin. Trip didn't know whether to jump with joy and renewed hope or to throttle him for the deception.

Malcolm whispered in Trip's ear. "And I've decided that there's no one else I'd rather have make love to me for the first time than you."

I've died and gone to heaven, Trip thought, stunned into immobility.

When Trip still didn't say anything, didn't even move, Malcolm backed away, anxious. "If you're still interested, of course," he stammered, apprehension starting to build in his eyes. "I mean…I can understand if you're not…"

Trip went through a list of adjectives, starting with adorable and ending with precious as Malcolm backpedaled incoherently. He put Malcolm out of his misery with a gentle kiss.

Malcolm threw his arms around Trip and kissed him back with an enthusiasm so intense that it left Trip breathless. He eased Malcolm down upon the table and let his mouth trail south. When he gathered Malcolm's rapidly recovering cock into his mouth he heard Malcolm moan his name.

Malcolm's fingers were in Trip's hair, hips rocking slightly, a steady stream of hushed words of pleasure flowing from his mouth. Trip deep throated him, unaware that hours later, Jon would be watching this scene, replaying it and coming for a second time, Trip's exquisite face and perfect lips sending Jon over the edge.

But at this moment all Trip was feeling was Malcolm's taut, firm body beneath him, savoring the taste of his friend, and listening to Malcolm's words becoming disjointed, until it was just his name and God's.

And when Trip finally pressed a finger into Malcolm, it was just Trip's name.

***

Malcolm was on the verge when Trip stopped, and he felt a light brush of a hand against his face. He cracked his eyes open and Travis smiled at him.

"Can I join you two?" Travis asked, finger tracing Malcolm's lips.

Malcolm's eyes darted to Trip's and when he saw the look of delight on Trip's face at the prospect, he couldn't refuse. He nodded, and Travis kissed him. "I can read lips," Travis murmured, "I'd like to help make your first time special."

Malcolm didn't even have time to be embarrassed by Travis' knowledge when Travis swept down and claimed his mouth. Travis' tongue demanded entrance and Malcolm acquiesced. He tasted slightly fruit- like and sweet—just as the bride had tasted.

Trip's fingers were moving lightly inside him, his other hand massaging his balls, and Malcolm's arched involuntarily when Travis playfully tweaked an erect nipple.

Then his legs were gently parted and suddenly there was that moist heat from Trip's mouth on his cock again. Trip's fingers were replaced but something pliable, wet, and deliciously warm. It sent a thrilled shiver through Malcolm and he forced his eyes open, lifting his head to see past Travis, whose mouth was now working on one sensitive nipple.

Phlox's luminous blue eyes met Malcolm's and he placed his hands on Malcolm's thighs, spreading them a little wider. That wet heat pushed further and further within him, filling him, and a warm glow began to expand throughout his body. Malcolm felt liquid, surging, poured out like quicksilver dancing in the palms of his lovers' hands, surrounded by warmth and tenderness. Malcolm let his head drop back down upon the table, eyes sliding shut, the sensations beginning to overwhelm him.

***

Trip watched Phlox's tongue enter deeper, feeling himself growing harder at the sight. When Trip sucked Malcolm's balls into his mouth he heard Malcolm inhale sharply, then swear, his voice ragged with pleasure. He turned his head and saw Travis, licking and nibbling and kissing Malcolm, whispering words of affection to him. He could feel Malcolm's cock twitching, his balls tightening, so Trip pulled away. He heard Malcolm breath out his name again.

Trip thought that Malcolm was beautiful; every hard plane of his body tensed and sculpted, his face naked with wanton passion. Trip wanted him—now.

But he wanted to make this memorable. Gentle. Loving. He tapped Phlox on the shoulder, motioning him to withdraw. The doctor did so, but with one final thrust and flick of his tongue that made Malcolm gasp. Trip gained Travis' attention and Trip got on table next to Malcolm, pushing him onto his side and spooning against his back.

Travis smiled and bent down, taking up where Trip had left off. Phlox moved behind Travis and began to tease the young pilot's entrance.

Trip wrapped his arms around Malcolm and pressed his cock between his lover's cheeks. He slipped inside.

So tight. So tight, and hot, and slick—between Phlox and the film from the bubbles, Malcolm felt like satin. Trip rocked gently, sliding in further as Malcolm shuddered, gooseflesh rising under Trip's fingertips.

Trip cradled him, watching Malcolm's face, his head thrown back. Malcolm was making inarticulate sounds as Trip moved faster, Travis sucking Malcolm in time, Phlox pounding into Travis in rhythm.

Trip felt Malcolm spasm, coming hard, and his dick was squeezed with such a force that Trip orgasmed immediately. Travis and Phlox followed, almost simultaneously.

***

Jon silently watched his crewmen laughing and hugging one another and a wave of melancholy longing washed over him as he contemplated lonely nights with only his right hand, the vid chip, and his large, cold shower for comfort. He didn't notice that his giggling crewmen were now whispering among themselves, conspiring. They broke apart and nodded in agreement to each other. Malcolm stood, stretched, and the slinky, much too inviting movement broke through Jon's dolorous musings.

"Captain…Jon…" Malcolm purred, a sly and rather libidinous smile on his face, "we were wondering if you could join us tonight—"

Jon's hopes, nipples, and dick perked up at that seductive tone.

Travis stood and rested his arm around Malcolm's shoulder. "We'd love to have you play with us," Travis added innocently. At least he sounded innocent. There was a definite wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Things became even perkier.

"Trip's decided on bluegrass tonight for his part and Malcolm refuses to play anything that sounds like a banjo," Phlox clarified, though there was just a hint of a teasing grin to his usual smile. "And I can't get my console to replicate that instrument to Trip's satisfaction." He rose and clasped Travis' hand.

Jon's hopes, nipples, and dick waned. He'd never learned to play an instrument. He shook his head, heart breaking and kicking himself for misinterpreting his crewmen's invitation. Four's company and five's a crowd, he thought sadly.

Trip stood and wrapped his arm about Malcolm's waist. "You could always shake my maracas, Jon," Trip said, smirking. He winked at his friend.

"And Trip's told me that not only can you sing, but you can dance as well," Malcolm said, his grin growing wider. "I'm thinking about some world music this evening. Tell me, Jon, can you…tango?"

Hopes, nipples, and dick began to swell again. And not in that order.

"Of course, you'll have to wear a monkey suit," Trip said, his smile as wide as Malcolm's and he waggled his eyebrows.

"But not for long," Malcolm added, and then licked his lips.

"We'll guarantee you have a good time," Travis said, and slid his hand down Malcolm's front.

When Phlox merely wiggled all eight inches of his tongue at Jon, both his heads exploded.

And later that evening, at the Ambassador's granddaughter's reception, four monkeys and a cat thrilled the wedding party. And each other.