Cold Sweat

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding. At first I'm confused—I can't figure out what the hell is going on or where I am. I open my eyes and blink a few times, but it's so dark, I can't see a damn thing. I'm in a bed. My bed, I realize. With a warm heavy body, breathing deep and steady, pressed right up against me. The dream is still with me. It was all so real, and I'm still cold and scared.

"Malcolm?" I ask, my voice a bare whisper, reaching for him. My hand hits hard flesh, flat and reassuringly familiar. I know I shouldn't wake him, I should just let the poor guy sleep but I can't help myself, I need him. "Malcolm?" I say again, a little louder.

He grunts, then inhales sharply. "Trip?" His voice is thick with sleep, but it sounds just beautiful to my ears. He rolls over, facing me and I can only grab onto him, press my face into his shoulder, my face pressed against warm skin, breathing him in.

"What—what's wrong?" he asks, his voice clearer now, and full of concern. His fingers touch my head, tentatively at first.

"Oh, Malcolm," is all I can manage. I hear my voice catch.

His hands caress my back, so gentle and comforting. "What is it, love?" he asks softly.

"Just—it's just," I take a deep breath, and clutch him tightly. "It's nothing. Just—just a bad dream." A very bad dream. A genuine goddamn nightmare. I shudder.

"Oh." He pats my head. "There, there now. It's all right," he says drowsily, his body relaxing.

"Easy for you to say." I take another deep breath, because he smells so good, just pure Malcolm. So familiar. My death grip around his body eases, and I rub my palms over the muscles in his back. Malcolm makes a soft little sound of pleasure, and kisses the top of my head. It's comforting, but I've still got that awful sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I nuzzle his chest, then brush my lips against his skin. Finally I open my mouth, tasting him, tasting Malcolm, my Malcolm. I lick and suck on his skin, then nuzzle my way to his armpit. It's much better there, his taste and smell even stronger.

"Trip?" Malcolm takes my head in his hands, bringing my face to his. I can't see his expression in the dark, but he sounds worried again. "Are you—"

My lips find his in the dark, cutting off his words. His mouth is warm and inviting, and I slide my tongue across his lips, reassuring myself with the familiar, unique flavor. While I'm kissing him my hands are moving on his body, feeling him, reading his body, seeking every familiar dip and curve.

"Malcolm," I whisper desperately. "Malcolm, Malcolm—." I need to say it, I need to hear it. I say it over and over again, stopping only when he kisses me, his tongue in my mouth this time, on my tongue, right where his name is.

We kiss for a long time, and I'm so caught up in him, in the taste and the smell and the feel of him. I want him, I need him so badly, I don't even realize I'm whimpering into his mouth.

"Shhh, Trip, it's all right." Malcolm touches my face, stroking my cheek. "I've got you, love, it's okay."

"Malcolm, I—please, please—" I don't know what I'm trying to say, except that I want him so bad, I need him.

"It's all right," he says again, trying to sooth me. His hand glides down my chest, and when he touches my dick I cry out softly. His touch is electrifying and suddenly I'm painfully hard and more desperate and needy than ever. He knows just how to touch me, though. His hand is so sure and familiar, sending a stabs of pleasure right through me, chasing away the last of the panic and the fear. This is what I need. I reach for him, feeling past his stomach, seeking, and finding his cock. It surges to life in my hands. He throws a leg over my hip, and then we are masturbating each other in the quiet, dark Enterprise night, filled with only the sound of our harsh breathing and the rub of skin on skin under the sheets.

Malcolm shifts his hips, moving, grunting, and next thing I know his cock is right up against mine.

"Right there, that's good, that's real good," I tell him, using both hands now, pushing our cocks together against my stomach, my hand covering his. It's so damn hot, so much friction, his leg is so heavy on my body, holding me down, holding me in place as he pushes against me. The dream is only a distant memory, because my here and now is filled with Malcolm. I rub my cheek against his face, breathing in his breath, rubbing his sweat into my skin. Pushing my cock against his, straining against his hand, my hand, our hands. "Malcolm, I'm—I'm—"

And then I'm there, moaning as pleasure flares through my body, sharp and sweet. Our hands get wet and slick, and Malcolm thrusts faster, tensing up, his fingers digging into my back. He comes with a hiss of pleasure, his heat spreading out on my stomach. I hold his cock against my stomach after he's done, feeling it pulse and twitch. My heart is pounding once again, and I'm all sweaty, but not from some crazy nightmare this time. My nighttime terror has been banished, and I'm feeling better, so much better. It was only a dream, and I feel like laughing out loud with the sheer joy my reality. But instead I just kiss the hell out of Malcolm.

"Oh," Malcolm gasps when I release him. "Good lord, Trip. What was that all about?"

"Mmmm. What was what?" I ask, putting my arms around his waist and pulling us closer together, then rub my come-slicked stomach against his, getting him wet and sticky too. I like to share.

"Why, thank you," Malcolm snorts, but doesn't struggle to get away. "What was—you had a dream of some sort, didn't you?"

"Huh? I what?" I try to kiss him again but he turns his head and my mouth lands on his cheek.

"Trip," he warns, "You woke me because of a nightmare. Here, hold still—" He cleans off my stomach with a corner of the sheet, then wipes his own.

"Oh?" I'm a terrible liar, especially when it comes to Malcolm, but I give it a shot anyway. "Did I? I don't remember?"

"Yes, you did. Now tell me about it."

I sigh, and roll onto my back. I know it's dark but I can't look at him when I say it—that's how ashamed I am. "I dreamed that—oh, Malcolm, you don't really want to hear this, do you?"

"Yes I do. Come on, 'fess up."

"All right, all right." Taking a deep breath, I blurt out, "I dreamed I was with T'Pol. You know, with her. As in—"

"Lovers?" Malcolm asks after a moment of silence. His voice sounds kind of funny.

"Yeah," I answer. "You've got to know I have no idea where that came from, honest to god, Malcolm, I would never, I mean, the Subcommander isn't so bad and all but you've gotta know I would never ever, I mean, I don't even want to—"

I stop because the bed is shaking. I realize it's because he's laughing. Laughing. Here I am, all worried that he's going to be pissed at me, and he's laughing.

"Just what is so damn funny?" I demand.

He reaches out, patting me on the chest. "Sorry, love, I'm truly sorry. It's just the thought of you and T'Pol together, it's just so, so utterly ludicrous—"

"Well, no shit." I say, still feeling a little peeved. It was certainly less than funny in the dream. Because I didn't realize it was a dream, didn't know it wasn't my real life. Still, somehow I knew it was all wrong. I knew I should have been with Malcolm instead, my warm, passionate, funny Malcolm. Who is willing to wake up in the middle of the night and make love to me just because I need him to.

"I just don't know where that dream came from," I say. "Really, Malcolm, it's not like I've ever wanted to do something like that."

Malcolm kisses my shoulder, having finally stopped laughing. "I know. Don't worry. It's only the random firing of neurons in your brain. Doesn't mean a thing." He snuggles up closer and whispers in my ear, "It was merely a dream. You know you belong to me, my love."

"I know, darlin'." I turn to him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know." I drape my arm across Malcolm's chest and he takes my hand in his. "Thank you for takin' such good care of me," I murmur.

"Someone's got to keep you out of trouble," Malcolm answers sleepily.

Stretching and yawning contently, I drifting off into sound, dreamless sleep, knowing I'm well-loved and cherished.