"Can you get the door?" Jon asked and re-adjusted the dead weight on his arm that was his chief engineer.

"I believe so." Malcolm replied and quickly searched Trip's pockets for the card key needed to open the door. It took a few minutes, but the key was found and the door opened. Malcolm shouldered it open and took his share of dead weight from Jon.

"Who would think that a man in his cups could weigh so many stone?" Malcolm asked as they carried Trip into the room.

Jon chuckled, looked around the room, and motioned to the bed. "The bed okay?"

"I don't think the Commander has a care as to where we drop him. Lord knows he's going to feel bad enough when he wakes up." Malcolm gave Jon's a smile. "We may as well get him comfortable."

Jon and Malcolm rolled Trip onto the bed and stepped back to survey the form sprawled in front of him. A slight smile lifted the corners of Trip's mouth. He mumbled something and rolled onto his side and began to snore.

"I need to get back to Travis, is there anything else I can help you with?" Jon asked.

"There is, yes." Malcolm began and turned to Jon. "Does Trip tend to vomit when he's had too much to drink? I'd rather be prepared."

Jon looked startled at the bluntness of the question, and then began laughing. "Trip can hold his booze. No problem there, just shove a couple of aspirin down his throat or he'll wake up and wish he were dead." He took one more look at Trip and shook his head. "Anything else?"

"No." Malcolm said and smiled wryly. "As his fiancÃ(c)e I should take care of him."

Jon shook his head. "Is this where I give the best friend talk about not breaking his heart?" He stood in the doorway, his hand on the frame.

"No need Sir. I doubt he'll remember a word of it in the morning." Malcolm looked own at Trip and watched him intently.

Jon silently left the room and pulled the door closed. Trip never blanked out completely, no matter how much he drank; he just tended to remember in bits and pieces. He imagined Malcolm and Trip would have quite a morning.

Malcolm noted the snick of the door closing and addressed Trip. "It looks as though we're stuck. At least until you sober up a bit." He contemplated the sprawled figure and decided it would be best to try to rouse Trip. A cold shower would work well, but then that left the problem of getting him moved into the bathroom.

He had a strong feeling that shaking the man, or calling his name wouldn't work, but it was a place to start. He sat down on the bed, on Trip's left side and couldn't contain the smile that lit his face.

In the space of an hour he had been insulted, felt up, proposed to and made wedding plans including of all things a chocolate cake. A real one, he amended and chuckled. Trip had certainly surprised him. To add to the list, he hadn't finished one ale, though he had ordered three.

He set his hand on Trip's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake and called out his name. In response he received a snort and a mumbled complaint before Trip rolled away from him. He tried a few more times, calling Trip's name in almost a shout before he reluctantly gave up. The dead slept less soundly than this.

Trip should at least be out of his clothes, in case he did vomit, or worse. Wh ich, Malcolm didn't care to think on further. The most pressing problem was how to get Trip out of the jeans and hideous shirt. The jeans would be easy, the shirt, well, he would have to place his hands on it to remove it, and it wasn't a job he wished on anyone.

But undressing Trip-that would be very enjoyable. It would be best to get the eye battering shirt off Trip's body first, that way he could throw it out the window all that much sooner.

With a grimace Malcolm pushed Trip onto his back and bent to his task. It was fortunate that Trip only buttoned his shirts until chest hair was visible, that way, he had to spend less time touching the offending fabric. He gave Trip a push and managed to slip the shirt off his shoulder. He repeated the action with the other shoulder and wadded the shirt up in a small ball and threw it into a dark corner.

Trip looked wanton, sexy. One arm rested above his head and the other had fallen across his stomach, his hand obscuring the view of honey tan skin. Malcolm held his breath and watched the rise and fall of Trip's chest, the gentle pulse of Trip's heart at his neck. Without conscious thought Malcolm reached out and ran his fingers through the sprinkling of hair on Trip's chest, then further following the trail of hair until he touched Trip's hand.

Friends didn't grope friends while they were passed out. Malcolm told himself sternly and made light circles with his fingers around Trip's navel. The skin positively trembled under his touch.

A soft intake of breath, and Malcolm felt Trip's hand grasp his own and drag it lower their fingers rested on Trip's groin. Trip's body was responding to the intimate caress, the skin under Malcolm's fingers taking definition under the tight blue denim.

"S'good." Trip mumbled slid Malcolm's hand up a fraction, then down, until all Malcolm could feel was Trip's cock, hard, needy, hot.

Malcolm tore his eyes away from the vision of their twined hands and looked up at Trip's face, and all his worries joined the discarded shirt. He laughed, he couldn't help it; a goofy half smile curved Trip's mouth, and it made him look every bit the dumb southerner. Malcolm loved him all the more for it.

He tore his hand away and stood. Trip looked disappointed for a fraction of a second then the goofy smile was back and Malcolm decided it would be best to worry about undressing Trip after the shower.

Malcolm made his way to the bathroom and stepped inside, toeing a wet towel out of the way. The shower looked big enough to hold two if Malcolm needed to help support Trip. Cold water would wake Trip up in heartbeat, but Malcolm found he couldn't be that cruel, and he set the temperature to a comfortable level. Besides, he could always shift the temperature colder if Trip proved unresponsive.

While he waited for the water to heat, he thought about the turn of events. Before this day, or correctly, before six or so bottles of Andorian ale, Trip had never shown one bit of interest. Sliding against each other in the conduits and jeffries tubes was a matter of course. He set his mind to the task and grasped at any straws he could, anything to make this real, not just the ramblings of a man in his cups.

He had noticed Trip from the first moment. The man had an aura of invincibility when he was tackling engineering, he glowed with it. He had been drawn to Trip as soon as that lazy southern drawl had lingered over his name. And the blue eyes clear and open, an easy smile, a laugh that held nothing back.

Steam began to fog the mirror and Malcolm left his thoughts and returned to Trip, who had one leg thrown over the bed, almost touching the floor.

Again Malcolm tried to wake him, calling his name, shaking his shoulder and after fruitless minutes gave up and hauled the engineer to his feet and draped Trip's arm around his shoulder.

Malcolm was close to breathless by the time he had lugged Trip to the shower and he needed a second to catch his breath. He leaned Trip up against the wall and leaned back using his body weight to keep Trip upright.

After a few minutes his breathing eased and he turned around, holding Trip upright with one hand on his chest.

"Come on you, into the brink." Malcolm held the door of the shower open with his free and hand and pushed Trip into the spray with his other.

He was surprised at how long it took for Trip to rouse, almost three minutes before indignant noises started spewing from the shower.

"What the—?" Trip yelled as he came around. "Andorian ale is what." Malcolm called out over the sound of running water. "Six bottles to be correct."

Trip moaned. "No wonder my head is pounding."

"No wonder indeed." Malcolm chuckled. "Is the temperature all right?"

"I don't know, my head is pounding too much and I can't get these jeans off. Did you have to toss me in here in my clothes?"

Malcolm peered into the shower and laughed at the sight of Trip leaning against the wall, trying to get his fingers wrapped around the button on his jeans.

"It's not nice to laugh." Trip said sourly and held his head in his hands, the pain overwhelming his desire to get out of his wet clothes.

"My apologies Commander, but if you could only see yourself, you would find the situation humorous." Malcolm tried for seriousness, but the forlorn look on Trip's face did him in. He began laughing, and leaned against the door of the shower stall.

Trip looked up and fixed Malcolm with a glare. "You could help instead of laughing at me."

"What would you like me to do? Step inside and peel those jeans off of you?" Malcolm wished he could take back the words as soon as he said them. Something about a soaking wet engineer with hair going all directions left his mind without a sense of propriety.

"That's a start." Trip pushed off of the wall and smiled, the pain in his head forgotten for the moment.

Malcolm shook his head. "You can't be serious. I'm not getting myself wet just to help you undress."

"Oh yes, you are." Trip caught Malcolms arm and pulled him into the shower. "Ever hear of the phrase 'If you can't so something right the first time, try, try again?'"

Malcolm closed his eyes as the spray hit his head and he landed with a wet thud against Trip. Absently he noted the water temperature was perfect. He wanted to be angry but found he couldn't, not with Trip's arms holding him close. Not when Trip's mouth was inches from his own, curved in a knowing smile. Malcolm smiled back.

"Do you remember everything you told me in the bar?"

Trip pulled Malcolm closer, "Not really. Andorian ale goes right to my head. Did I say something stupid?"

"Only after the third ale." Malcolm chuckled and stepped out of Trip's embrace. "Is this where I 'try try again' to get you out of your pants?" If Trip wanted to continue what had begun in the bar, he was more than willing to be a part of it. After all shore leave gave you the freedom to engage in things you couldn't shipside.

"If I get to take you outta yours." He took one of Malcolm's hands in his own and held it to the waistband of his jeans, and pushed it lower until he held Malcolm's hand against his erection. "Touch me. I've been waiting for months to feel your touch." He caught Malcolm's lips in a deep kiss, touching, tasting, exploring as Malcolm opened under the gentle assault.

Malcolm all but melted from the need in Trip's voice and wrapped his free hand around the nape of Trip's neck and pulled him closer, lost in the fire of his need. For longer than he could remember, he dreamed of this moment. Of Trip, strong and warm, holding him tight, confessing to wanting him. Everything else could wait until morning. He would have his chance to see his dream come alive in his hands.

"God Malcolm, I didn't know, I wanted it, but I—" Trip rasped and rested his cheek against Malcolm's.

"Hush." Malcolm whispered and touched his lips to Trip's. Electrified by the simple touch, Malcolm growled and pressed harder against Trip's cock, his thumb outlining the rigid flesh. "I need you." He said simply and pressed his body against Trip.

"Need you too." Trip said against Malcolm's ear.

Malcolm cupped Trip's cock for another moment then began to wrestle with the jeans, finally getting the button undone. He used his thumb to separate the cloth from Trip's skin and slowly pushed the zipper down, his thumb pressing on the hard flesh. He smiled when Trip groaned, and slipped his hands around to Trip's ass and began to peel the soaked fabric off.

"Did you feel like living on the edge?" Malcolm asked when his fingers failed to find underwear.

"I always get lucky when I go without skivvies." Trip replied and looked down in wonder as Malcolm slid down his body, pushing the fabric before him. His fingers tangled in the dark hair as Malcolm passed his chest.

"It worked again." Malcolm replied and watched hungrily as Trip's cock was revealed. He helped Trip step out of the jeans and wound his hand around Trip's erection, heedless of the water that was cascading down his neck and back. Trip was silky hot in his hand and he darted in to taste him, his tongue licking the bead of fluid of the tip before enclosing the flesh with his mouth.

Trip bucked his hips, every nerve ending alight as Malcolm's mouth closed around his cock. "God—Malcolm." He moaned and his fingers tightened in Malcolm's hair.

Malcolm placed his hands on Trip's hips and pushed him back against the wall and greedily explored the length of Trip's cock with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. This is what he wanted, Trip writhing under him, lost in his touch. He wanted Trip desperately.

Trip felt as if every part of him was centered on the feel of Malcolm's mouth coaxing him along to orgasm. He pushed Malcolm away and pulled him up his body, making sure there was as much contact as possible. He caught Malcolm's eyes, wide with desire and longing before plundering his mouth; throwing everything in his heart into the kiss.

"Why did you stop me?" Malcolm asked breathlessly.

Trip leaned his head on Malcolm's shoulder and breathed deeply. "I want to watch you come. I want to watch that reserve crack in a million pieces. I want to you fall apart under my touch."

Malcolm pressed his lips to Trip's chest. "That sounds incredible." His finger searched out a nipple and gently traced the skin around it. He rested his head against Trip's and smiled as he remembered part of Trip's drunken words. "I thought I was the one who was going to 'try out the goods'."

"Try out the goo—Oh God, I told Captain that didn't I?"

Malcolm chuckled at the horror in Trip's voice. "And Travis too."

"What else did I say?" Trip asked, his voice filled with trepidation.

Malcolm passed his thumb over one of Trip's nipples and nibbled the hardened skin. "I believe you told me, and I quote, 'Yer ass is mine'." He finished the quote in a dead on drunken southern drawl.

Trip relaxed and placed his hand under Malcolm's chin, and pulled up until they were eye to eye. "I should practice what I preach."

"Mm, you should." Malcolm purred and lost himself as Trip's mouth claimed his once again. He wondered when Trip would remember proposing to him and all the other things, like real chocolate cake. And then the feel of Trip's hands caressing his ass consumed his thoughts.

"This ass is definitely mine." Trip growled and pulled Malcolm closer.