"Hey Malcolm,' I call out to the man stretched out on the bed. "You missed a great movie."

"Huh—what?" Malcolm looks up from his padd, frowning. "Oh yes, the movie. That was tonight? Some sort of science fiction film, wasn't it?"

"Some sort of?—c'mon now Malcolm," I exclaim in despair. "The Day The Earth Stood Still isn't 'some sort of science fiction film', it's a genuine Science Fiction Classic, I tell you. A classic cold war, anti-nuclear parable from the 1950's, with the flyin' saucer an' all, not to mention Gort—" I stop there, realizing I had lost him already. He's got his nose back in the damn datapadd again.

I stand there, arms akimbo, waiting for him to notice me again. The movie is one of my favorites, and I wanted to share it with him. I think he would have liked it, even though there's not a whole lot of action. It does have a cool robot. But Malcolm—he's been real busy lately, working on doing something fancy with the phase pistol power packs. Which is just fine and dandy with me, although I've barely seen him in three days. He comes to bed after I fall asleep, and dashes out in the morning before my eyes are hardly open, because he can't wait to get his hands on those phase pistols again.

Malcolm finally notices my silence. "I'm sorry, love, you were saying?" he asks, in his polite little British way.

I wave my hand in apology. I really have no right to grouse at him. "It's nothin' Malcolm. We can watch it together some other time. Whatcha workin' on?" I ask, gesturing toward the padd that seems to be his constant companion these days.

"Just reviewing the data from the last series of tests. I think it looks rather good," he says.

"The data from this morning? I thought it looked good, too." I checked out the data earlier in the evening. But knowing Malcolm, he's analyzing it five ways to Sunday, just to be sure. And then he'll do it all over again. "Why are you checking over again? Something jump out at you?" I'm sure I didn't miss anything when I went over it, but heck, I've been known to be wrong on occasion.

"Oh, no, no, just want to make sure everything's ship shape," he assures me.

So the data is actually just fine. Malcolm just needs to agonize over it for a few more hours, while I sit around and twiddle my thumbs. Which is entirely his prerogative, of course.

I contemplate my lover as he sits there, his brows drawn together, lips pursed in concentration. He looks so damn appealing, sitting back against the pillows, dressed all casual in sweats and a teeshirt, his overall appearance rumpled and touchable. And he's barefoot. He has cute feet, although he never believes me when I tell him that.

He taps the keys on the padd, then his eyes shift and he notices me staring at him. I get that that expectant look, mixed with a little exasperation, the kind of look that pretty much says 'if you don't need me for anything could you please leave me alone so I can get back to work, darling'.

Fine. There's plenty I can do without him. I sit down at his desk, log into his console and check my messages. Nothing exciting there, just routine updates and reports. I manage to while away a good five minutes. Then I close the screen down, push the chair way from the desk, and lean back so I can sneak a glance over a Malcolm. Yup, he's still engrossed in his work. I watch as he scratches his head, pulls up one knee, and drums his fingers absently.

Doesn't look like he's finishing up real soon.

Like I said, it's perfectly fine with me that he's busy, because there's a whole mess of things to keep me busy. There's my harp, for example. I could do with playing a few tunes, but I left them all back in my quarters. Whenever I leave one here in Malcolm's room he generously returns them to me. Right away. It's awful sweet of him. Another option would be to find Jon and see what he's up to, but he's probably busy preparing for that presentation to Starfleet tomorrow morning. And I don't want to take any chances that he's going to try out one of his speeches on me. He's a dear friend and I want to keep it that way.

I hear a soft "huh" from the other side of the room, and I turn to see Malcolm tapping away at the padd with a vengeance. Then he sits back with a satisfied expression, tucking a hand behind his head as he watches the readout. He's just having a grand old time. Seems like he finds this project utterly fascinating. Good for him, it's nice to see him so involved in something. Because I really don't mind that I haven't even seen him naked since this project started. It's just fine that I only have vague recollections of a warm, naked body pressed against mine during the night, and that when the alarm goes off, the covers fly and he's gone. At least he takes the time to give me a little peck on the cheek before he dashes off. He's got things to do, phase pistols to modify. Can't be lingering in bed now.

Me, I kind of like lingering. Sometimes, when we are both working the late shift, we do linger, just so we can make love first thing in the morning. Before we're even fully awake. I love to gradually drift out of a dream to the sensation my neck being nuzzled, in a way that feels like I'm still in a dream. He'll curl up around me, caressing my body in a leisurely way before sliding a couple of fingers up inside of me, nice and slow. No hurry at all. I always keep my eyes closed, the entire time, even when he enters me, so that the only thing I'm aware of in my little dreamworld is Malcolm. Malcolm penetrating me, Malcolm cupping my balls, Malcolm stroking my dick, Malcolm whispering sweet words of love into my ear as he reaches deep inside of me. Time stands still, and we float along together. When we finally come to our gasping, panting, shuddering conclusion, I swear I never know if we'd been doing it for minutes or hours.

Just thinking about it gets me all warm and tingly. I realize my own hand has made its way across my lap to press down on my cock. Which is now awake and ready for action. I peek over at Malcolm one more time, but he's lost in his own little world. I hate to disturb him. I decide I'm going to take care of business all by myself.

I stand up and stretch with a heavy sigh, then pull my shirt off over my head, tossing it aside with a flick of my wrist. It just happens to land on the bed, right next to my darling Malcolm.

Malcolm blinks at it, then eyes my naked chest. "Having a shower now, are you?" he asks.

Ah. So at least he realizes I'm still in the room.

"Nope," I answer.

"Oh." He turns back to his work.

I kick off my shoes, each of which land on the floor with a thud. I'm still watching him, and at this point I'm pretty damn sure he's got a half an eye on me—there's something about the tilt of his head, the flicker of his lashes. Next, the pants. I unzip them slowly, making sure the sound of the zipper is nice and clear, then slide them down past my hips, my ankles, then carefully step out of them. Wearing only my briefs, I edge my butt up onto the desk, sighing loudly as I lean back, close my eyes and slide my palm over my hungry cock.

"Trip—what *are* you doing?" I hear Malcolm ask, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I open my eyes and give him a sideways glance. "Just go back to work darlin', don't let me disturb you," I say, as innocently as possible.

He stares at me, then mutters, "Right."

I wait until he's focused on the datapadd. Then I pull down my briefs and get down to business, wrapping my hand around my dick, stroking and pulling, all the while indulging in my private little fantasy of Malcolm doing me right in front of the Starfleet Academy building, right there on the steps where they photograph each graduating class. My arms wrapped around the stone pillar, my legs spread, and Malcolm's behind me and inside of me, pushing me flat against the cold marble—so cold against my chest, but Malcolm's hot against my back—so hot inside of me as he plunges inside of me—oh, yeah.

"Trip!" Malcolm exclaims.

I stop, squeezing the head of my throbbing cock. "What, am I makin' too much noise for you?" I ask, breathing heavily.

He shakes his head. "Bloody obnoxious yank. Would you just wait? I'll be finished here soon enough."

"An' so will I. Really, you just go one and play with your data—I'm doin' just fine without you," I tell him.

"So I see." He contemplates me for a second, and I think he's trying not to smile. Then he nods. "Right then." He stretches his legs out, crosses them, then with an imperious wave of his hand he adds, "Carry on," before getting back to work.

"Thank you kindly for your permission, darlin'."

I give my impatient cock another squeeze before sliding off the desk to grab the bottle of massage oil resting on the bedside table. Like I said, I have plenty of things I can do without him. Pretty soon I've got two slippery fingers up my ass, which is kind of nice but not all that exciting since they're my own. Malcolm is pointedly not looking at me, even though I'm standing right across from him, one leg propped on the table as I lubricate myself.

He may not be looking, but I can definitely see signs of interest, namely that bulge in his pants, and his expression isn't quite so focused anymore. Not to mention that his delicate skin is looking a mite flushed.

Grabbing my discarded shirt, still lying on the bed where it landed, I wipe my fingers clean. Malcolm deigns to glance over at me. "Put that in with the other dirty laundry, will you, love?" he asks, his face beautifully deadpan.

I hold his gaze as I drop the shirt deliberately onto the floor, then watch as Malcolm purses his lips, again trying desperately not to smile. His eyes flicker down to my cock, then, yes, back to that damn data padd again. But that's quite all right with me. He can keep right on working, it don't bother me one bit.

I climb onto the bed with him, and quick as a wink I'm straddling his hips. As I begin to tug his sweats down he peers at me from over the padd, brows raised questioningly, the very picture of offended dignity.

"Don't mind me darlin'," I tell him. "You keep workin' on that data. Make sure everything's consistent an' all."

He grunts and goes back to his work. "I bloody well intend to. Just see that you don't make a mess."

He's so perfectly snippy and British that now I'm the one struggling not to laugh. Because I do just adore him. And not only because he puts up with me.

I slide his sweats and his briefs down in one move, and his cheery cock springs up to greet me. He has the sweetest cock I've ever seen, precisely shaped with a nice broad head and just a little curve along the length of it. When I touch it Malcolm makes a small sound and shifts his hips around, but he doesn't look up from his work. So I pour some oil into my hand and stroke him firmly, getting him good and slick. He sighs and squirms around some more and when I peek over at his face he's biting his lip and tapping the keys on the padd as he frowns.

"Yes?" he inquires, in an impressively even tone.

I scoot forward to get into position, which pretty much puts me right in his face. "'Scuse me," I say as he lifts his data padd, holding it up higher to so I don't bump it. I grasp his cock behind me, holding it against my opening. "If I you don't mind pushing a little—?" I ask, just as polite as he is.

He rolls his eyes and obliges with a gentle thrust, his cock sliding inside of me with ease. I take in his entire length, until I'm sitting down on his hips, and damn if it doesn't feel so good it almost hurts. When my balls are resting on his body I hold still, allowing my body to adjust to the intrusion, and I can't resist pushing up his shirt up so I can caress his pale skin.

I see that Malcolm is gripping his padd so tight that I'm sure it's going to be crushed. He screws his eyes shut, face flushed, breathing kind of heavy. "Something the matter, darlin?" I ask as I clench my muscles.

He starts, then opens one eye and mutters something under his breath. It takes a moment for me to process it.

"I'm what? High maintenance? Me?" I exclaim. "What do you mean by that?" I lean forward, resting my hands on his chest, and rock my hips in a deliberate, unhurried fashion. "I don't know why you say things like that about me," I gasp breathlessly.

Malcolm groans and drops the data padd as he squirms, thrusting his hips upward. "Bloody pain in the arse," he growls.

"Malcolm, darlin'—you dropped your padd, here—" I retrieve the padd and hold it out to him. "Now you get back to work—" It's hard for me to talk, each stroke of his cock is sending bursts of fire through my body.

Malcolm grabs the padd and throws it down, then curls his hands around my wrists. I start to move faster, I can't help it, I love the way he feels inside of me. I love him, love the way he yanks on my wrists, pulling me down as he surges up, still muttering curses at me and we meet in the middle, our mouths crashing together in a frantic, eager kiss. I can't help but laugh into his mouth, because this is exactly what I've wanted all along.

"Give me this," he snarls, grabbing my cock as he thrusts. He's moving inside of me, as he sucks on my neck, bites my shoulder. It all gets so crazy so fast and feels so fucking good, because he's so god damn good. I can't stand it for a second longer—my body is going to explode—

I come like a supernova, crying out his name as my body shakes like it's going to come apart. Malcolm falls back into the pillows, groaning as I hang my head, his thrusts sending glorious little aftershocks through my body and I just don't want to come down from my high.

"God, Trip, you—you're so bloody—oh, god," he moans, panting, letting him thrust roughly up into my body faster and faster until suddenly he freezes, straining against me, mouth open. He doesn't make any noise as he comes, he just gasps as if he's just seeing something too amazing for words.

When he done his body relaxes as he sprawls out underneath me, giving me a dopy grin, before pulling my head down for a kiss. "You could have just said something, you know," he tells me as he eases his cock out of my body.

I lick his cheek. "Now where's the fun in that." I settle on in next to his warm, damp body, feeling smug and content, ready for a good long cuddle. Something cold and hard pokes me in the side, though, and I dig around until I retrieve the data padd.

"Thank you, love," Malcolm says, plucking it out of my hand when he sees it. "That last analysis should be done by now."

I just groan and tuck my head against his shoulder as he laughs. Bastard. But I love him anyway, and he knows it.