I duck into the empty side corridor, my cohorts following right behind. We stop to catch our breath.

"We'd better split up," I say quickly. "We've lost all communication with Rostov and Hoshi. We have to assume they've been captured."

"Damn," mutters Travis.

"So Travis, I'll need you at the helm. Hess, you set the explosives right underneath, on B deck, to create a diversion."

Hess nods. "We should cut through the kitchen area—" she begins to tell Mayweather, but I interrupt her.

"Yeah, but be sure to take out Chef first. He's a real bastard to deal with."

Travis and Hess check out the hallway, getting ready to move out. "And you?" Travis asks over his shoulder.

"I'm headin' for the main engine room," I answer.

Travis pauses and frowns. "By yourself? Won't it be heavily guarded?" He doesn't mention the fact that Malcolm himself would be guarding it, but I know that's why he sounds so dubious.

"I can use the air duct between decks B and C, head down the maintenance shaft, then cut my way through to D." They stare at me blankly. I exhale in frustration. "It'll work. Trust me."

"Won't that show up on the sensors?" Hess asks.

I shake my head. "Nope. Disabled them."

Now they both look impressed. But then Travis spoils it by asking, "Would invading aliens really know how to do that?"

"Invading aliens could scan the ship's systems before boarding," I point out to him, a little too sharply.

"Okay, okay."

We hear footsteps, and a hapless crewman appears in the corridor. Travis kills him swiftly and efficiently.

"Nice shot." We smile at the crewman, who is indulging in a tragic death worthy of an Oscar. "Let's get out of here before someone finds him," I say, and we're off running again.

This is our third drill this week: alien invaders versus the crew of the *Enterprise*. I've been designated as the leader of the invasion. And I've been defeated twice. Things aren't looking too good for my third attempt, but I'm not giving up hope, even though two of my men have been captured and I haven't gotten anywhere near the engineering or helm controls. But I still have Hess and Mayweather—and a hell of a lot of incentive. This may be just a drill, but it's getting personal.

I just can't stand the thought of Malcolm capturing me yet *again*.

I'm determined to outwit my lover this time around. Since I fully expect him to have the engine room heavily guarded, I take the long way around. I move swiftly through deck E and up to D, dashing down corridors, sneaking around turns, ruthlessly killing everyone in my path. I engage in a momentary shootout with Ensign Cutler. She puts up a good fight—she's one tough cookie, with a real steady hand on the phase pistol. But luck is with me and I get the final shot in, right between her eyes.

"Dammit!" she yells, as she feels the mild sting of the laser. "You're such a shit, Trip." She sits down, sulking, as I approach.

"You did pretty good there, really," I tell her. "For a biologist, that is."

She raises her pistol and shoots me right in the gut, but it doesn't count, of course, since she's already dead. I grin at her and continue on.

I make it C deck. I know the perfect place to access the conduit—the laundry supply room. I pause at the end of the corridor, listening. I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. The corridor is empty. Perfect. I congratulate myself on my clever plan as I race to the door and slip inside. The room smells of laundry detergent. Clean sheets and pillowcases are stacked all around me. I lay my weapon down and begin unfastening the cover of the air vent. This time I'm getting into that damn engine room. This time—

"Look what we have here," an all-too-familiar voice sings out behind me. Before I can move, I feel the hard snub of a phase pistol press against my neck.

Not again. I kick the wall in anger and frustration. "Goddamn it, Malcolm." Had he been waiting here for me all along? What is he, a mind reader?

"Keep your hands against the wall," he instructs, and I reluctantly obey, placing my palms flat against the surface. He begins checking me for hidden weapons, patting my legs down, still pressing the pistol against my neck.

I stare at the gray wall before me, hoping desperately that Hess and Mayweather have reached their target. Maybe they have a chance, with Malcolm down here occupied with me. I decide to make his task as difficult as possible, to buy them more time.

Imagining the smug look on his face, I tell him, "Hey, don't be so proud of yourself. Took you five hours to catch me this time."

"Yet you still didn't get anywhere near the engine room. Not that I expected you to be successful." His hand comes to rest on my ass, stroking it possessively, as if I were some sort of pet instead of a worthy opponent.

"Malcolm, do you really think I have a phase pistol hidden *there*?" I ask sullenly.

Malcolm reaches around to my front now, groping me shamelessly. "I'm just being thorough," he whispers against the nape of my neck.

Although I enjoy the feel of his lips moving against my skin, I'm in no mood to be both defeated *and* fondled. It's—it's humiliating. The way my body responds to his touch doesn't help my mood any. My heart beats faster; my cock begins to swell. I have to struggle with myself to hold still as his palm presses insistently against my growing erection. "You treat every prisoner this way?" I ask, trying to distract him. Or myself. I don't know.

He only chuckles, then squeezes me. I swallow a desperate, needy groan. His warm body behind me, his hand on my dick overwhelms me. I can't do anything other than just stand there like an idiot, hands against the wall, letting him feel me up while my palms get slick with sweat. It's more than a little disturbing how easily he can send my brain right down into my shorts, as if my body wasn't my own anymore.

"So tell me—" he begins, voice crooning as he gives the length of my shaft one firm stroke.

"Oh, shit, Malcolm—" I gasp. I feel it right down to my toes.

He chuckles again, the bastard, and rubs the swollen head of my cock through my uniform. "Tell me how many more of you are on board this ship," he whispers. He rubs his cheek along my back as he cups my balls. "Tell me now." His voice is silky.

I gather all my strength. I wrench myself from his grasp and push him away. "You are such a little shit, Malcolm," I tell him. "Now, would you do that with a real alien prisoner?"

Malcolm just grins at me, completely unrepentant. I can't help but appreciate that smile, those laughing eyes. But, I remind myself, he's not playing fair. "If it would get me answers, yes, I would." And I don't doubt him for a second, I realize.

"I don't remember that technique being in the Academy handbook."

"I'm writing a new one—"

The chirp of his communicator interrupts him. It's the captain. He informs Malcolm he's captured Mayweather and Hess. Damn it to hell. That was the last of us. Another invasion defeated.

"You'll be pleased to hear, Captain, that I have captured the ringleader." Malcolm sneers a little as he says "ringleader," which ruffles my feathers even more. "Again," he adds.

Bastard.

"Good job, Malcolm." I can faintly hear the Captain's voice through the device. "Bring him up for questioning."

Malcolm pockets the comm and pulls out his restraints. "Turn around," he orders.

The restraints are the last straw. "Make me." I fold my arms against my chest and scowl at him. Malcolm scowls right back, raising his phase pistol to my face. "I said, Turn. Around." He speaks very deliberately. "Don't make me have to stun you."

"Oh, and I bet you just would," I say. He can be such asshole. And so can I. So I just stand there, daring him.

"Bloody pain in the arse—" he mutters. I bite back smile when he doesn't stun me. Instead, he takes me by the shoulders and tries to twist me around. I let my body go limp and sag to the floor, throwing Malcolm off balance. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I tuck and roll into his legs, knocking him down, sending his weapon skittering across the floor. It hits a stack of folded sheets, and to my complete astonishment, it bounces back almost directly into my outstretched hand.

The expression on Malcolm's face as I point the phase pistol at him is priceless.

"On your feet, Lieutenant," I drawl, enormously pleased with myself.

My darling just stares at me, still dumbfounded.

I try again. Because it's payback time, I put some menace in my voice. "I said—"

"All right, all right," Still shaking his head in disbelief, he gets up slowly. "Just shoot me now, please."

"Shootin's too good for the likes of you," I say in my best John Wayne voice. I can't stop smiling. I'm gloating.

I snatch the cuffs dangling from his hand, spin him around before he realizes what I'm doing, and have him cuffed in a jiffy. I grope his ass as I seal the restraints. Then I reach into his pocket for his communicator, making sure his thigh gets a nice long stroke while I'm at it.

Malcolm jerks back around to face me, frowning. My captive is not happy—not happy at all. But I sure as hell am. I am positively gleeful.

I spend the next few seconds just smiling at him, enjoying the situation in a big way.

"Must you be quite so infuriating about all this?" Malcolm finally asks.

"You are so cute when your dander is up," I tell him. He literally sputters in response. I activate the communicator. "Is this Captain Archer?"

There's a moment of silence on the other end. Then the captain barks, "Where's Lieutenant Reed?"

"Your lieutenant is just fine. Now listen to me. If you want to keep your ship in one piece, you'll do what I say. I'm headin' for the cargo bay. I want Mayweather, Hess, and the others to meet me there. I'm takin' a shuttlepod and gettin' off this here ship. And you're not gonna try and stop me." Maybe I've seen too many movies, but I just love playing the bad guy. Especially when I've got the gun.

"You'll never get away with this."

Jonathan has seen a lot of movies, too.

"Oh yeah? Well, then, I'm takin' this pretty little Lieutenant here with me as insurance," I say, winking at Malcolm.

"You're what? Listen, you'd better not harm one hair on his pretty little head," Archer threatens. I can hear muffled laughter in the background. My pretty little lieutenant's eyes are shooting daggers at me. I blow him a kiss.

"Captain," Malcolm shouts to the comm device. "I beg you, please kill him. I don't mind getting caught in the crossfire."

My captive is a snide one, for sure. "Captain, I wouldn't do that if I were you. I've initiated a warp drive overload. Unless I enter my secret code, the core's gonna breach in, oh, about ten minutes."

"What?" Malcolm exclaims. "You did not! You were nowhere near the engine room!"

I glare at him. He's ruining the effect. "Did too," I assure him. "I accessed the controls from the panel just outside the observation room."

"You're bluffing. That couldn't possibly work," he says defiantly.

"Are you sure about that?" I present my best poker face, and he pauses, thinking furiously. He leans toward the communicator still in my hand, channel still open.

"Captain—" he says hesitantly.

"We're checking the systems now," the captain says. "And there's no sign of any impending overload. Honestly, Trip, I think you're reaching a bit now." I can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, but it was a good bluff, wasn't it?" I ask, conceding defeat.

"Not bad." There's a pause. Then the captain says, "All right, I'm ending the drill now. Good job, everyone. We'll debrief in an hour."

A few seconds later, the shipwide announcement begins. And I still have my prisoner—and an hour's time.

My captive is cursing a blue streak as I march him into my quarters, hands still cuffed behind his back. I'm impressed. I wasn't aware he had such an extensive vocabulary.

"Save your breath, darlin'," I tell him. "You're going to need it."

"Unlock these fucking restraints *now*, Commander," he says for the third time.

"Nope. You're my prisoner. I captured you, fair and square."

"The drill is over," Malcolm reminds me. I raise my eyebrows at him and approach him slowly. He backs up just as slowly until he hits the wall. He glares at me, his eyes wary, as he struggles with his restraints.

"Trip—" he warns. "We have to debrief—"

"Damn right we do." I unzip his uniform.

"Trip? What are you doing?" he asks, his voice full of warning.

"I'm dealing with my prisoner in the appropriate manner," I tell him as I push his coverall off his shoulders, bunching it up around his forearms.

"Trip—don't you dare—"

I tug the uniform past his hips and run my hand over the swell of his cock. "Why not?"

He looks furious but doesn't answer. I do notice he's breathing kind of heavily.

"You're the one who mentioned debriefing," I tell him as I pull his briefs down, freeing his erection. His shirt is too long, though. It gets in the way and spoils the view. So I pull it up to his underarms, exposing his body from his cock to his nipples. Now that's a breathtaking sight, and I just have to touch.

"What do you think you—oh—" He's looking a little dazed, which maybe has something to do with the way I'm running my thumbs over his nipples. They tighten up real nice, so I pinch them both, rolling the nubs of flesh between my fingers. His thick cock is twitching in a real appealing sort of way, so I reach down in give it a little tug, too. I don't want it to feel left out.

I step back to admire the result. He looks damn good, half-naked, with his arms tied behind his back. He's trying to glare at me. My cock is a heavy, throbbing weight between my legs, and I want to do things to my helpless lover. Nasty, dirty things.

But maybe not just yet. "So, do you want to head over to armory and reset the phase pistols before the debriefing?" I ask casually.

"Uh-uh," he groans. "That can wait."

"How 'bout we compare notes on the drill?" I suggest, running one finger lightly over his ribs, then down across the flat plane of my captive's stomach.

"Later," he says as he watches my hand.

My hand reaches lower, into the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock. I wrap his curls around my fingers and tug gently. "Maybe we should hit the mess and get a snack."

He closes his eyes. "Trip, please."

I glide my hands back up over his chest, under his shirt, and onto his shoulders, leaning into him. "So what *do* you want to do?" I ask, brushing my lips against his. He tries to kiss me but I pull back out of reach, holding him firmly against the wall. He groans in frustration. He's breathless and looking desperate.

"You know what I want," he manages to say.

I give him a smile, just to piss him off. His eyes narrow.

"Isn't—isn't torturing prisoners against Starfleet regulations?" he says, recovering a little. He's twisting and tugging against his restraints, trying unsuccessfully to shake my hands from his shoulders. "You've had your revenge. You can unlock these now."

"Sorry, no can do." I massage the hard muscles of his shoulders. "Tell me you're not likin' this as much as I am." My eyes flick down to his engorged cock, and I smirk. "Because I am really liking this."

He looks right at me, opens his mouth, and then closes it again, his mouth in a firm line. But he doesn't deny it. I take him by the arm and guide him across the room, pushing him down onto the bed, and he resists again, just on principle, I think.

"What are you, daft? What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growls, trying to shove me away.

"Hey, now remember, I captured you." I wrestle him down to the bed, push him onto his back, and straddle his legs, laughing. I'm having fun and I think he is too, because he's not resisting too hard. I know that even with his hands tied behind his back, he could still do me some serious damage if he wanted to. "You're my prisoner, and I can do what I want with you."

Just to prove it, I push his shirt up again and suck hard on a salty nipple. He gasps, humping up against my thighs. I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock and use my teeth on his nipple and he's just gone, humping my hand, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Oh, fuck," he pants. "Trip—"

I kiss his chest, bite his stomach, suck on a sharp hipbone. I love way his body moves beneath me. I love the sound of desperation his voice. I lick my way to his straining cock, then suck the hard length of him into my mouth. His hips rise up off the bed in response. I tease his cock, licking it, wetting it down, blowing on it, kissing it. He alternates between cursing me and begging me. He's not making a whole lot of sense, but I'm enjoying the hell out of it.

Finally I crawl back up his body, put my hands on either side of his head and kiss his open, panting mouth. He kisses me back frantically, his mouth is eager and hungry. He rubs his cock against my crotch.

"You bastard," he mumbles between kisses. "Please. I'm yours. Your prisoner. Do whatever the fuck you want to me."

I need to get naked. One more kiss and then I'm pulling off my uniform. Malcolm watches me, his chest heaving, looking fucking sweet with his hands tied behind his back.

"Malcolm—your wrists—are you comfortable?" I kick off my shoes and unzip my coverall at the same time. I'm a little worried with the way his uniform is bunched up beneath him.

"God, Trip, you are so bloody beautiful—" he whispers to me.

"Your hands—they okay?" I shed my briefs and my uniform all at once, stumbling in my eagerness. "I just want to be sure."

"Please, Trip, I need to come—"

He's squirming again on the bed. He's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"Malcolm—hands—do they hurt?" I ask forcefully. I don't want to hurt him.

Malcolm shakes his head. "No hands. Just cock. I'm—I'm all cock." He's sliding his feet on the bed, digging his heels into the mattress. "There's nothing else—"

Fuck it. No more time for questions. I want him so bad it hurts. I get onto the bed, crawl over to his head, turn around, and swing one knee over so that I'm straddling his shoulders.

"Yes, yes, please—that's it—"

My cock brushes against his cheek, and pleasure sweeps through my body from just that light touch. I reach down between my legs and hold it against my stomach so that my balls are touching his face. He starts to lick immediately, and I shiver with the sheer pleasure of it all.

"Suck," I order, my voice breathless. "Oh—"

Malcolm obediently pulls one aching sac into his mouth, releasing it slowly. Then he takes the other one into his mouth, licking it, mouthing it. I can't stop moaning, he's so fucking good. I shift my hips and now Malcolm's tongue is working the area behind my balls, making my cock throb something fierce. But when that tongue slides up between my cheeks and finds my opening—my mouth just hangs open and I almost stop breathing. It's that good—it's too fucking good.

My legs are getting wobbly, so I let go of my dick and put my hands on either side of his hips, my face directly above his gorgeous, dripping cock. Malcolm's hot little mouth captures my dick just as I take his into mine, and things just get kind of crazy. I hold his hips down and suck him hard, my own hips moving as he sucks me deep into his mouth over and over. He's moaning around my dick, he's squirming under me, he's trying to fuck my mouth while I fuck his. He's all I can see, all I can smell, all I can taste, sharp and salty on my tongue. I can't hold him steady anymore as he digs his feet in and pushes up into my mouth. I wrap my arms around his hips, and his pinned hands find mine and lock onto them, holding tight. I'm trapped now, my arms locked around his hips, his cock thrusting deep into my mouth. My prisoner, I captured him fair and square, now he's got me—he owns me—oh god—

I strain into his mouth. My balls clench hard and I'm coming, my wail of pleasure muffled by his cock. His hips jerk and convulse. His cock almost hits the back of my throat and then he climaxes, filling my mouth just as my orgasm fades, and it's just fucking perfect.

I hold his cock in my mouth through the aftershocks, running my tongue along the slit while he nuzzles my pubic hair, moaning with pleasure. When he twitches his cock out of my mouth, I back off shakily and reverse my position. "You all right?" I ask. I gently lick my come off his face.

He nods, looking a little stunned, still trying to catch his breath. "That was bloody wonderful." His lips find mine and we kiss, tasting ourselves in each other's mouth. "You're bloody wonderful. Insane, but wonderful."

"Well, you started it," I told him. "You couldn't keep your hands off my dick in the supply room."

"I was—" He pauses, then grins. "I was *pumping* you for information."

He's so damn cute when he's postcoital and silly—makes me want to get started all over again. But we have a meeting to go to, so I pull his keys from his pocket and release the restraints. As I rub his hands, he asks, "So, am I forgiven for capturing you in these last three drills?"

"Nope," I answer.

He smiles. "Good."