Title: Squeeze Me

Author: TheGrrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@yahoo.com

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

Date: 04/12/03

Archive: Ok to Entstslash, Archer's_Enterprise, WWOMB, Tim Ruben Archive, others please let me know.

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Type: Slash M/M

Rating: R

Summary: A response to Miera's birthday challenge. Trip tells Malcolm a little story about his sordid past.

Author's notes: I have plenty of other things to work on, but I just couldn't resist this. Darn you Miera! <g> I managed to incorporate most of the challenge items, but not all. This was quick and dirty, and unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. So Happy Birthday Miera, and remember, writing smut makes keeps you young!

"What *are* we listening to, Trip?" Malcolm asks, first thing, as he enters my quarters.

"Blues, darlin'." I put my beer down and get up to greet the love of my life. "Squeeze me."

Immediately Malcolm engulfs me in a hug. "Actually," I say into his neck, "that's the name of the song." I put my arms around him. "Not that I'm complaining or anything." A hug from Malcolm is a wonderful, whole-body experience. Even when fully clothed.

He chuckles and tightens his hold on me.

"Squeeze me, but don't tease me," I say to him. Our thighs are rubbing together.

"I don't tease." He breathes into my ear as he says it.

I nuzzle the side of his face in return. "You, Mr. Reed, are nothing but a tease." We sway to the throbbing music, Malcolm pressed right up against me. I know he isn't a real fan of blues, but it seems like he's happy with the situation. Very happy, I deduce from the hard bulge pressed into my hip. I give a little shimmy against his groin. "Malcolm, did you forget to return one of the phase pistols to the armory?"

When he laughs, I lick his cheek and tell him, "Have I ever told you that I love the way you laugh at my lame jokes?"

His thigh slips between mine, nudging our cocks close together. The room grows warmer. "Have I ever told you I love your lame jokes?" he purrs.

This is getting mighty sappy, and I'm enjoying every minute of it. Since we've become lovers I've discovered a sweet, silly side of Malcolm that I never knew existed. The man is hot, sexy, and for some strange reason, just crazy about me.

At this point we've got our hands on each other's asses, and the music, slow and soulful, is definitely encouraging a dirty little bump and grind to our movement. I pretend we are in a dark, crowded bar, and we've been dancing all night. Soon we'll get so horny we can't stand it anymore, and I'll drag him into a dark corner and reach down into his pants, right there in public—oh yeah.

I lay a trail of kisses down his neck, but then his shirt gets in the way. "Huh," I say. "Malcolm, there's something wrong with your shirt."

"Really?" Malcolm looks down at his pristine, black T-shirt.

"It's really bothering me. I think I'm maybe allergic to it or something?"

"Oh, dreadfully sorry—" He looks so darned concerned. "Shall I change?"

"Wait, I think you just need to—" I grab the shirt by the hem and quickly pull it off over his head.

"That was utterly shameless," he tells me as he emerges, hair ruffled. He's trying his best to look stern.

"Yeah?" I get my hands in his hair, messing it up even more.

He bats my hands away, then generously decides to help me out of my shirt. "But it was kind of cute," he adds.

"You're kind of cute. C'mon," I say, putting my arms around his naked waist. "I'll let you lead."

We're dancing again, his bare chest pressed against mine so that I can feel each breath he takes. We're nose to nose, looking into each other's eyes. When he tilts his head back my lips immediately find his and we kiss, slow and sweet. I like the way his hands caress my back, his fingertips gliding along my skin, sending little shivers of pleasure right straight to my groin. I groan into his mouth. I like that we're not completely naked, with the layers of material rubbing up against our cocks.

"Mmmm." Malcolm nips at my jaw. "I think I like this song." I can feel his tight nipples rubbing against my chest. "It suits you."

"It has special meanin' for me, you know. I got arrested once while playing it."

"You, arrested?" Malcolm gives me a little disbelieving smile. "I'm consorting with a common criminal?"

"Yeah, well," I go for a long, slow grind against his thigh, sighing with pleasure, "It's kind of an embarrassing story."

"Tell me," he says. He licks that spot right behind my ear.

I turn my head, encouraging him to do it again. "Way back when I was in the academy, I played harp sometimes at Louie's with a bunch of folks," I explained.

"I remember the place. Rather seedy, if you ask me."

"It had character." I clarify. "We were there this one Friday night, I remember, the place was so damn crowded."

I stop to kiss Malcolm's nose, because, well, because it was there. Then Malcolm goes for my lips, and we kiss again. I sulk when he stops and commands me to continue with my story.

"I can barely remember what I was sayin' when you kiss me like that."

"Louie's. Friday night. Crowded." Malcolm says helpfully.

"Okay. We were playin' this very song, really getting down with it—I mean, we had Lemont Lazy Eye Williams on guitar, and Blind Betty was singin'. Doesn't get any better than that. Oh, and No-Hands Nelson on drums—"

"You mean the munitions fellow?" Malcolm asks.

"Yeah, that's him. We were playin' our hearts out, and I was doin' my part, when Sergeant Tibbs just sort of freaked out." The memory makes me shudder. "I don't know what got into him, but he was all over that stage—then maybe I just hit a wrong note on my harp or something, because he stopped, spun around then went right for me."

Malcolm frowns. "He sounds rather dangerous, what did you do?"

"He was real dangerous. Scared the hell out of me—I mean, he moved so fast. Sure, those tiny little poodles look real cute, but they have a real temper on them, let me tell you. And just what is so funny?" I ask my lover.

After a heroic struggle to contain himself, Malcolm says, "Nothing, love. Please, go on." Then he tucks his face into my neck, his chest shaking suspiciously against mine.

"I told Betty a million times that pup was trouble. Anyhow, Sergeant Tibbs lunges at my backside, gets a mouthful of my pants and pulls them right down. Remember those baggy, loose pants that were in style back then? Somehow that bastard got a hold of my underwear too, pulled them down right along with it."

"Oh, you poor dear." Malcolm looks at me, his face red, and bursts out laughing. Sure, he never had to face that little bundle of fury that was Sergeant Tibbs.

"Well, I suppose it's funny now, but damn, Malcolm, I was standin' there on stage in front of all those folks with my dick hanging out, and—" I pause, not sure if I want to continue.

"And what?" At my continued silence, he pleads, "Come on, you may as well tell me the rest."

I tell him quietly, "I get kind of excited when I play, if you know what I mean."

I can see the understanding dawn in his eyes. He begins to laugh again, leaning on me this time. "Glad you can find my embarrassment so amusin'," I say.

Malcolm calms down for a moment, stands on his own and does his best to look sympathetic. "So why on earth were *you* arrested?"

"Ah, there was this cop who just hated my guts. Said I did it on purpose. The charges were eventually dropped, since there were plenty of witnesses. I tell you, they should have arrested that damn dog for assault."

Malcolm just loses it again, shaking his head. I watch the man who claims to love me laugh helplessly over my traumatic experience.

"A poodle," he gasps.

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl at him. "Thing had teeth like a piranha, I tell you—"

That sets him off again, and I suppose it's funny if you didn't have to see those teeth snapping in the air at you. I put my hand on Malcolm's chest, feeling the laughing rolling through his body. He is kind of cute like this. I give him little push, and he steps back, until his back is up against the wall. The song has ended, but Malcolm's laughter is it's own kind of music.

And I suppose the story is kind of funny.

Finally Malcolm calms down a little, leaning back against the wall, one hand resting on his chest, breathing hard and sort of hiccuping of bit. He's all flushed and really looking just gorgeous. Like he's just been fucked. I grab his shoulders and kiss him hard, pushing him against the wall. He gives as good as he gets, pushing back, biting at my lip.

"You must have been quite a sight," he says, his voice low and rough, "up there on stage with your pants around your ankles."

I go for his throat, kissing and licking the tender skin. "I did get a lot of offers to work as an exotic dancer after that," I tell him. Got plenty of other kinds of offers, too.

Malcolm inhales sharply when I get my mouth on his nipple. He groans and reaches down to unfasten his pants. "And did you?"

"Nope, it's not really my kind of thing." I shove *his* pants down to his ankles, and wrap my hands around his eager cock while I slide down onto my knees.

"More's the pity. Oh, yes—squeeze me—"

And he starts laughing again.

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