Malcolm Reed, Armory Lieutenant and stereotypical stiff-upper-lipped Englishman, the man most feared by ensigns in combat training, wanted a hug.Not just any hug, but a full-body, breath-taking, rib-crushing hug of reassurance that his lover was still alive. A hug that went beyond simple physical contact and into the realm of spiritual gratification.
Watching as the Captain and the Doctor fussed over his lover, Malcolm knew he wasn't going to get that hug anytime soon. Only his innate ability to hide his feelings kept him from pulling out his phase pistol when the captain told Malcolm to go ahead and return to the bridge. He didn't want to return to the bridge--he wanted his hug.
His professional mask kept him from tossing T'Pol across the bridge when she suggested that Malcolm's shift was over and he might benefit from sustenance in the mess hall. His genuine like for Hoshi and Travis kept him from standing up in the middle of the mess hall and shouting to the crew that he didn't want to go to the movie, he wanted his hug!
He went to the movie, he kept his eyes on the screen, but the entire time he wanted to be somewhere else, receiving his hug. He was relieved when the movie ended and he could escape back to his quarters, to at least dream of his hug.
When the door of his quarters shut behind him, he started to sigh in relief--a sigh that was cut off by two strong arms wrapping around him from behind and crushing him to a tall, lean body. He leaned back into the embrace, feeling the warmth behind him and sighing as much as he could with almost-cracked ribs. He felt his soul calm, his lover's presence reassuring him more than any words could.
Still, he did have to breathe.
"Trip, don't take this the wrong way, but let me go?"
The arms relaxed, and Malcolm took a deep breath. He turned and slid his own arms around Trip, who nuzzled Malcolm's hair. "Sorry, darlin'. I just wanted my hug."
Malcolm tightened his arms. "Me too, love."