He paced his quarters, unable to sleep. He was too wound up, too full of memories and regrets and what-ifs that had plagued him in that last hour before his scheduled execution. The adrenaline rush of the rescue had pushed them down, but now that he was back on Enterprise, in his own quarters, they had returned.He still felt guilty--it was his carelessness in losing the communicator that almost got the captain of his ship killed. His job was to keep the crew alive, not put them into situations where they were beaten, interrogated, and almost executed.
Unconsciously, his hand came up to rub at his neck. He could still feel where the rope had rested; still feel the weight of the knot behind his left ear. His quarters closed in on him, becoming too small, too much like a prison cell. Without thinking, he rushed out of the room, blindly walking down corridors, his mind on autopilot as he acknowledged the greeting of crewmembers.
When he finally allowed himself to think, he was standing in front of the captain's quarters, hearing the man's voice over the intercom. Malcolm hit the door release and stepped into the room.
The captain was in jeans and a t-shirt, sitting on the bed. He had a padd in his left hand, his right stroking Porthos.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"I wanted to apologize, sir, for what happened on the planet. For almost getting us killed."
He sighs, setting the padd down. "As I said, Lieutenant, the fact that your communicator slipped out wasn't your fault. It happens. If you'd like, I can assign you the task of determining how to prevent that in a similar situation."
Malcolm nodded, accepting the task. "Thank you, sir." He hesitated.
"Can't sleep?" the captain asked, an understanding note in his voice.
"No, sir."
"Sit down, Malcolm, and you don't need to call me sir. We're off duty." Jon waited until the lieutenant had settled onto the couch before continuing. "Let me guess--keep thinking of everything you hadn't done and things you had planned to do?"
Malcolm nodded, his lips twisting into a half smile. "You too?"
"Yeah. Funny, in those last moments I kept wondering who would take care of Porthos." He looked down at the beagle, rubbing his ears.
"I'm sure Commander Tucker or Ensign Sato would have taken him in."
"I'm sure." Jon got up, heading for the small fridge under his desk. "Would you like a beer?"
"Thank you, yes." Malcolm knew this was edging close to fraternization with a superior, but he also knew Jon was the only one who understood what he was feeling, what he had been through.
Jon pulled two out of the fridge. "Captain's rank has its advantages." He handed one of the bottles to Malcolm, who reached out and took it. Their fingers touched briefly, sending small sparks through both of them. Gray eyes met green, and their shared experiences were reflected in both. Jon didn't let go of the bottle, instead using it to pull the other man up. His other hand slipped around Malcolm's waist, pulling the smaller man closer. He leaned down and captured Malcolm's lips in a chaste, exploratory kiss. He didn't want to pressure Malcolm, didn't want to make it seem like this was the captain taking advantage of him. At this moment, he wasn't the captain; he was simply Jon Archer.
Malcolm made the first move to deepen the kiss, opening his lips and licking Jon's. A groan was wrenched from the older man as he responded, opening his own lips and sucking Malcolm's tongue into his mouth. When they finally broke for air, Jon immediately began nipping along Malcolm's jaw. The younger man thrust his hips forward, and both groaned as their erections came into contact.
Jon turned the lieutenant and pushed him back toward the bed. Part of his mind was telling him to stop, that this was just a response to the near death experience he and Malcolm had shared. Then Malcolm had his hands under Jon's shirt and his fingers were ghosting over Jon's nipples, closing off any rational thought.
In moments, the two were naked on Jon's bed, skin caressing skin, lips reluctant to let go for necessary things like oxygen. Jon rolled over, letting Malcolm rest on top. Malcolm practically purred as he rubbed his arousal against Archer's. Jon moaned, thrusting his hips up against Malcolm.
"God, Malcolm!" Jon's cry rang through the room as his body overloaded and he came, biting Malcolm on the shoulder as the sensation overwhelmed him.
"Jon!" Malcolm rasped as he let go, exulting in the most basic affirmation of life. His muscles turned to water and he sank onto Jon, panting in rhythm with his lover.
Jon languidly stroked Malcolm's back, rational thought returning. Was this just a response to their near deaths, or something deeper brought to the surface by the experience? Malcolm had mentioned his belief that he shouldn't fraternize with his superiors--and this was as fraternizing as you could get.
Jon stopped breathing when Malcolm nuzzled his face into Jon's neck. Malcolm sighed and his breathing evened out. He had fallen asleep. Jon reached down awkwardly to pull the sheet over both of them, trying not to wake Malcolm. Explanations and rationalizations could wait for the morning. Right now, they were both alive, and that was all that mattered.