Title: Andorian Ale

Author: TheGrrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@yahoo.com

Author's URL: http://www.geocities.com/coffeeslash/thegrrrl

Date: 07/30/02

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Archive: WWOMB, EntStSlash, Archer's Enterprise, others please ask.

Rating: NC-17

Summary: In response to Louise's First Time Challenge (in honor of Louise being our 1000th poster! Hurray!) Author's Notes: Did this one in a hurry, so no beta'ing! All the mistakes, poor word choices and clumsy, awkward sentences are mine, all mine.

And sorry, no Andorians in this one! Just the ale.

It just wasn't fair, thought Malcolm as he gulped down his ale. The man shouldn't be allowed out in public dressed in those jeans. He glared as Trip leaned across the table, halfway out of his chair, in order to snag a bowl of pretzels. Which gave Malcolm an eyeful of his exquisite ass, clad in very snug, very faded denim. Not to mention the tight black t-shirt which hitched up as Trip reached, exposing an area of warm, sun-kissed skin. Malcolm sighed.

On the way back down into his chair Trip bumped Malcolm. With his ass, of course. "Sorry, M'colm," he slurred as he attempted to pat Malcolm on the shoulder, only to miss by a wide margin and pat Malcolm's thigh instead. Malcolm's eyes widened as the man narrowly missed getting handful of Malcolm as he patted.

"Quite all right," replied Malcolm softly. He was certain the man hadn't heard him over the din in the observation deck.

But Trip nodded at him and presented Malcolm with his catch. "Pretzel?" he offered.

Malcolm shook his head and waved the bowl of snacks away. He preferred to concentrate on his ale. And on surreptitiously readjusting his underwear, trying to keep his unruly body parts under control. He should have never sat next to Trip. He also should have never allowed himself to develop such a crush on his straight-as-an-arrow superior officer.

"I propose a toast!" shouted Trip, slamming his fist on the table.

"Okay." Jonathan picked up his bottle and began drinking.

"No, no, wait, I haven't toasted anything yet!" Then Trip stood, swaying just a touch. "To Hoshi. For translating above and beyond the call of duty, and netting us this amazin' Andorian ale."

Malcolm looked to his right as Hoshi beamed proudly. They all raised their bottles and cheered, Malcolm joining in. Travis clapped her on the back enthusiastically, nearly toppling her over onto Malcolm.

"Travis, be a little more careful, will you?" he scolded as he righted her. "We may need her to replenish our ale supply someday." As he assured himself she was safe in her chair Trip finished his bottle of ale and sat, only to stumble, miss his chair completely and land squarely in Malcolm's lap.

"Sorry, Malcolm." Trip turned and patted his head this time, and then ruffled his hair.

Malcolm gazed up at the impossibly blue eyes. "Trip. Please get off of me."

"If you insist." Trip sulked as he slid off Malcolm's lap and onto his seat. Damn. Was the man was flirting with him now? Malcolm watched as Trip leaned forward again to talk to Jonathan, who, after quite a few bottles of ale, was looking around the table with a happy, vague smile on his face. No, it was just his overactive imagination, he was sure. He turned to chat with Hoshi when he heard Trip shout. "Shit!"

Malcolm looked over in time to see Trip jumping up out of his chair. Didn't the man ever sit still? Then he saw the stain on Trip's shirt and the toppled bottle. As the stream of ale headed towards Malcolm he decided that getting up was indeed a rather good idea.

As he stood the room swayed crazily. Hmm. He really didn't have that much ale, did he? As everyone fussed and shouted and began wiping the spill, he decided he must have drank more than he realized, especially considering the pressure in his bladder. "'Scuse me," he mumbled to no one in particular and left the room, winding his way through the tables.

When he returned, yawning, he noted Trip's absence.

"Went to get a clean shirt," Hoshi explained, giggling. She had been giggling a great deal that evening. Oddly enough, Travis seemed to be giggling now too.

"Well, I'm beat, so, I must bid you all good night," said Malcolm. The ale was catching up with him, and he was feeling an odd sort of buzz. Different than with earth ales. Different in a nice way.

"Wait, Malcolm," Jonathan waved at him. "Trip wanted you to stop by his quarters—wanted to ask you—something," Jonathan frowned. "About er, something," he finished proudly.

"Yeah, he did, ask for you to, you know," added Travis.

Malcolm nodded, mystified by their odd behavior. Then again, the ale seemed to be making them all a little silly tonight. He gave a small wave and headed towards the lift.


Malcolm hit the chime to Trip's quarters, then frowned as the floor tilted. Must be something wrong with the gravity plating. He reached out to knock on the door, calling out Trip's name, only to have the door slide open.

He stumbled forward, into the room, somehow managing to avoid falling on his face. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he looked about and said, "Trip, you wanted—"

As his eyes found Trip he stopped speaking. The man was obviously in the process of getting undressed. He was shirtless, barefoot, and those tantalizing jeans were unzipped. Trip's hands were on his hips, having lowered both the pants and his briefs to the point where Malcolm could see wisps of pubic hair escaping. Malcolm forced himself to close his mouth.

"Malcolm!" Trip greeted him heartily, as if he hadn't seen Malcolm in days. He hitched up his pants a few mere centimeters and sat on the bed. "Whatcha doin'?"

What was he doing? Malcolm thought for a moment. "You wanted to talk about—something?" He couldn't remember what it was exactly. The sight of that nicely furred chest was too distracting. He wondered how it would feel tickling his nose.

"I did?" Trip looked surprised. Then he patted a spot next to him on the bed. "I guess I did. Come sit."

Malcolm sat heavily on the bed. "Trip!" he shouted in surprise as two strong hands grabbed his shirt by the hem and pulled it off over his head. He worked quickly to free his arms only to have Trip abruptly lift his left ankle and remove first his shoe, then his sock, then move to the right foot. "Trip, what the hell are you doing?"

"Takin' your clothes off."

Trip went for the fastening on Malcolm's trousers. Before Malcolm could even think of stopping him he was on his back as his drawers and pants were being pulled off.

"God damn it Trip!" he growled. He sat up, stunned to be so naked, so suddenly. His cock seemed to be the only part of him that wasn't surprised, springing up eagerly, hot and ready.

Trip eyed Malcolm's erection and smiled. "Why?"

Through Malcolm's ale-induced haze he realized he didn't want it to happen this way, as a drunken mistake on Trip's part. He looked around for his clothes, wondering to where they disappeared. "Trip, really, let's just stop."

"Now you say stop?" In an instant Trip was straddling Malcolm flat, pinning his wrists over his head. "You prowl around this damn ship, lookin' so sexy—do you have any idea how sexy you walk? Add in that sly little smile—like you've got some sort of secret…then you come to my quarters tonight?"

Malcolm was utterly baffled. "Huh? I thought—" He thought what? What had the captain said to him before he left the party? He couldn't remember. Not when he was being pinned to the bed by Trip. It felt good. He liked Trip holding him down like that. "I just didn't want you to—we're both—oh hell, just kiss me."

Trip immediately obliged, kissing Malcolm furiously, his tongue thrusting deep, taking Malcolm's breath away. Malcolm kissed him back with enthusiasm, squirming against Trip's body, feeling the denim rub against his skin. Eventually Malcolm slipped his wrists away from Trip's grasp and grabbed his head, running his fingers through the short hair. Then, breaking off the kiss, he took Trip by the shoulders and rolled over.

Somehow the bed vanished and they were both on the floor, unharmed, tangled in each other's arms. Malcolm tried to remove Trip's pants while also attempting to taste every inch of that lovely exposed skin. All the while Trip was licking and nibbling at whatever part of Malcolm he could reach. They both grunted, sometimes in frustration, trying to hold the other still to zero in on a particular target. Malcolm managed to get his mouth on Trip's nipple, finding that Trip's chest hair did indeed tickle his nose in the most delightful way. Malcolm sucked and bit down lightly on the hard nub, pleased to hear Trip cry out in pleasure. Then Malcolm was on his back again. Trip's backside was in full view and Malcolm was trying to make progress on removing Trip's pants when he felt a hot, wet mouth engulf his cock.

He gave up and simply clutched at Trip's legs as the man bent over him. It felt so good, so incredibly good. Malcolm felt himself get closer and closer to the edge as Trip enthusiastically worked his mouth along Malcolm's shaft. Too close—

"Trip, stop!"

Trip lifted his head and chuckled. "I'm gettin' a little tired of you tellin' me to stop, Malcolm." He sat back on his haunches, panting. Then turned and dug about in his dresser drawer, returning to face Malcolm with a look of triumph and a tube of lubricant. He tried to hand it to Malcolm but it fell from his hand. "Oops. Slippery."

"Trip, I swear, I had you pegged for completely, absolutely, positively, straight," said Malcolm, retrieving the tube. "You know, with Ruby, Natalie…" Malcolm caught himself too late and groaned. Mentioning an ex-girlfriend in the middle of sex. Smooth move.

But Trip only grinned even more broadly as he finished removing his jeans. "You were puttin' on a pretty good act yourself there. Just how many girls did you write letters home to on that Shuttle?"

Relief flooded through Malcolm. "Didn't want to scare you by including half the men in San Francisco." Watching Trip struggle with his pants, Malcolm grew impatient. He tugged at the cuffs, at last removing them.

"Thank you." Trip tossed the pants aside. "They were fightin' back."

Malcolm handed the lube to Trip, who promptly handed it back to him. "I want to be on bottom," Trip said.

"But I rather prefer it myself," commented Malcolm hopefully. He offered the tube back to Trip.

Trip shook his head. "C'mon Malcolm. I want you inside of me. 'Though I don't see why we couldn't figure out a way for both of us to be on the bottom." He furrowed his brow. "Should be a way for that to work, right?"

Malcolm groaned. He reached for Trip, turning him around manhandling him into position on his hands and knees.

"No, really, Malcolm, think about it," continued Trip. "Might take some doin' but…"

Bloody engineer. Malcolm admired Trip's backside, and kissed each lovely, round cheek. He then squeezed some lube onto his finger and slipped his finger gently inside the tight, puckered hole.

"So then if we could both—oooh. Yeah. That's—that's good."

Malcolm worked in a second finger, and Trip was reduced to making small, incoherent noises. A sound Malcolm decided he liked very much. When Trip was ready Malcolm slicked his own cock thoroughly, spread Trip's knees apart and carefully pushed himself inside.

The pleasure was overwhelming. Trip was so hot, so tight—it was all Malcolm could do not to slam himself in deep. He held onto Trip's hip with one hand, and with the other stroked the whimpering man's back. Then he slid in the rest of the way, slowly, gently, sliding his cock deep inside Trip's body. He pulled out, then slid back in again, groaning with delight at the sensation of Trip's body enveloping him. He heard a quiet whisper.

"What, Trip?" he gasped, still trying to maintain control.


Malcolm closed his eyes as the softly spoken word sent a shiver of pleasure through his body. He complied, thrusting, tilting his hips to burrow in deeper.

"Oh god yes, Malcolm. Fuck me harder."

Malcolm gave up all pretense of control and slammed his cock into Trip repeatedly. The pleasure was intense, almost more than he could endure. His head was spinning. He heard loud groans, either from him or Trip, he couldn't tell. Then Trip was pushing back against him, shouting out his pleasure, his body convulsing, spasming against Malcolm's. Malcolm gave one last push into Trip, and let himself go, falling into the release of a long, shuddering climax.

He collapsed on top of Trip, dizzy and breathless. He kissed Trip's broad back, and closed his eyes.


Malcolm woke with a start. He blinked and looked around his quarters. The room looked strange. Then he remembered—he was in Trip's quarters. The memories of the evening came rushing back. The Andorian ale. Trip's blue jeans. Clothes being yanked off. Malcolm groaned and felt around the bed. Empty. He didn't even remember climbing into bed. Trip probably awoke earlier. Probably ran out of the room in horror, leaving Malcolm to let himself out, in order to preserve some modicum of dignity for them both. Not surprising. He decided the wisest move right now would be to drag himself out of Trip's bed and into his own. And pretend nothing had ever happened between them. Yes, that would be best.

Cautiously Malcolm lifted his head. It throbbed in pain. Not too bad, considering the amount of ale. His mouth was dry and pasty, his knees sore. He reached down to touch them and winced. Rugburn.

He was pulling himself up into a sitting position when he heard the door open. He looked up in astonishment. Trip was entering the room, carefully balancing a heavily laden tray stacked with covered dishes. The man was barefoot, dressed in baggy sweats and a ragged t-shirt. His hair was tufted out in all directions and Malcolm swore he had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his entire life.

"Well, what the fuck, there's a naked man in my bed," Trip teased, smiling at Malcolm. Trip hooked a foot around the nearest chair, dragged it to the bed and set the tray upon it. Then he slid into the bed, under the covers, next to Malcolm. He propped himself up against the wall with a pillow. "I wasn't sure what to bring, so I got a little bit of everything. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, waffles, hey, how's your head?"

Malcolm, still dazed, could only stare at Trip.

"Your head, does it hurt?" questioned Trip. "Here." He reached for the tray, then handed Malcolm two small pills. "From Phlox. They work. Really." Trip sounded surprised himself. He reached for the tray again and handed Malcolm a covered mug. "Coffee. No milk, two sugars, right?" He kissed the top of Malcolm's head.

At last Malcolm found his voice. "I love you," he said, clutching the coffee cup. He did. He really truly did.

"Would you still have said that if I didn't bring you coffee?"

Malcolm shook his head, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through his temples. "Nope." Good lord. He was already beginning to pick up the man's speech patterns.

"Yes you would." Trip fed him a slice of bacon.

Malcolm then decided he liked Andorian ale very much. And that he owed Hoshi a great deal. And the captain, for sending him—oh shit. The realization struck him. The giggling. It had been a set-up. A very successful one, he thought as he leaned against Trip's warm body, sipping his coffee. He smiled happily. He owed them all.

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