I'm not going to last. One more thrust is all it takes and then my control along with everything else around me shatters. I'm flying. Riding the wind. Free.

The feeling of complete freedom doesn't last very long, though while it does nothing in this quadrant or the next matters. No one expects anything from me. There are no demands, and as promised, the warm body that still holds me like a hand within a perfectly fitting silken glove has answered the ones of my own. But all to soon it seems the responsibilities I have shed out of both necessity and physical need crowd in around me and I feel myself falling again, landing hard against the sweat covered back of the one who has provided my reprieve.

Despite the intensity of my release and the undeniable pleasure I have derived from it the lack of smooth curves and gentler scents still strikes me as odd even after all this time. I cut my recovery short, telling myself it's so I can enjoy the lingering affects of my climax more comfortably; wondering as I separate from my lover and settle myself beside him if I will ever get used to thinking of Malcolm that way. Technically I know that we are not lovers, that I would have to be in love with him for the term to be justly applied here. Though there are times, fleeting moments such as the ones we have just shared when the thought provides me with a sense of comfort that I had not expected to feel when I first agreed to this.

Frankly I don't know what to make of it all sometimes, least of all what I should say to him when he stares at me as he is now. This relationship between us that seems to have grown out of a combination of both our needs goes against all Starfleet regulations and everything I have ever thought about myself before, leaving me at a loss at how to explain it.

Something in his gaze says it does not matter, that we're not here to talk, but still I wish there was a way to make him understand that I do care about him, that he gives me what I need. There are of course other ways to show my appreciation and as Malcolm gently reminds me that we are a long way from being finished here I take the opportunity to do what I can't seem to say.

Pulling him toward me, he kisses me with a passion that takes my breath away, and that I wouldn't have believed he possessed if I hadn't had first hand experience with it myself.

Although I'd be hard pressed to admit it to anyone, Malcolm has had the helm in this from the very first time he came to my cabin offering more than one of his systems reports and as he takes charge completely I can do little more than enjoy the ride. Driving his hips forcibly forward, he is searching I realise for a rhythm that I have come to understand transcends age and orientation.

I grip his ass, squeezing firmly and encouraging him to move against me, to find whatever rhythm he needs, whispering phases of assurance that I can't ever recall using in the past, powerless it seems to do anything but to respond to his taste and touch. I am not sure why it's so easy to let go with him? Or why being with him like this feels as if I am rewriting myself a little more each time that we are together?

There is no disputing that the sex is hot. Just what the doctor ordered, my mind remarks absently. Though at the time he had brought it up I doubt Phlox meant that I should release my sexual frustration in exactly this manner. It's less primal than I imagined it would be and as I urge Malcolm on, meeting each thrust of his hips with an answering one of my own I begin to regret that I ever thought it should be.

Always alert, Malcolm doesn't miss what I had hoped to keep from him. Without saying a word about what we both know is a result of my 'get it done, get it over with attitude' he pulls out of my arms and rearranges us so that I am lying on my back and he is sitting astride me.

The new position gives me instant relief and judging from the faint sounds of Malcolm stroking himself it hasn't slowed him down at all. I am relieved on both counts but I also feel pretty foolish right now and I can't bring myself to look him. I try to apologize, only he tells me it's okay, that if acting like an unfeeling jerk was what I wanted then there is nothing to be sorry for. Of course he doesn't call me a jerk. He wouldn't. Not Malcolm. Not the man who put aside his own strict code of conduct to come to me and admit he had developed feelings for his commanding officer. Citing every related protocol he had then offered what no one else would or could, given my position and our mission.

I sigh at the memory, trying to relax and enjoy Malcolm's undemanding company but so much has happened since we first set out on our journey of exploration that my mind wanders of its own accord. Some things I had anticipated and was ready for. God, after years of dealing with the Vulcans I knew for instances that you couldn't encounter new species and cultures without pissing at least one or two of them off. But there are other things. The continual life and death situations and glimpses into Earth's future that I don't think anything could have prepared me for. I wonder sometimes if I will get used to Daniel's visits or being responsible for the growing number of lives, or if simply getting used to it is what I need to do to get the job done.

Even before my mind notes the shifting of his weight and the arm that I have slung across my eyes is carefully lifted away to reveal Malcolm's searching gaze I know that this is not the time or place to be having such thoughts. He doesn't say anything, but I can see it in his eyes, he knows I haven't been paying attention, and now he's not sure if I want him here or not, even though we are both aware that this is why he comes to me. Still, I chide myself it shouldn't be like this. I know that I haven't promised him anything. I can't, and not just because he's a man or a subordinate. I can't commit to anything while Enterprise needs her Captain, which I guess, will be as long as Starfleet believes that I'm the man for the job. I also know that I am under no more an obligation to him than I am to anyone else under my command but I wonder how that can be true. How can I be with him and not feel responsible when he's the one who gives me all that I need?

Reaching out to him I guide him forward, grateful that he moves willingly into my arms and welcoming the warmth of his body as he kneels over me. Kissing him soundly I then reach between us to take a firm hold of the swollen heat still needing attention. He moans around my mouth as I touch him, working him in much the same way I would myself. Alternating my upward and downward stroke and squeezing a little at the crown I set about repaying my part of our agreement.

It's not a difficult task, for all his protests about proper procedures and discipline Malcolm is as uninhibited as any man I have ever met, and in spite of my own beliefs being with him is always a liberating experience.

We may not be lovers in the technical sense and yet when we're together like this it seems only right to think of him as if we were. He tells me he loves me and though I can't say the same the thought that one day he may be asked to die for me gives me no comfort at all. There are no words to explain what his coming here has meant to me, none that I could ever say aloud to him or anyone else but something tells me that if the day ever came, if I lost him, then I would mourn him as I have no other man in my life.

It's a sobering thought, one that I find gives new importance to my ministrations and to my need to make this as satisfying for him as he has always made our times together for me; freeing me in a way I can't quite comprehend and don't want to right now. I reach further between Malcolm's legs to gather the remains of my own release to ease his, whispering to him what I am doing and why. His reaction is immediate and exactly what I had hoped for and as I increase the speed of my stroke, adding a few more words of encouragement he comes hard, moaning my name as his warmth floods across my chest.

I keep up the slow pumping of Malcolm's cock until he is completely spent and then wrap both my arms around his narrow waist, silently encouraging him to relax and to let me support him while he catches his breath. For a moment or two he accepts, resting the full weight of his body against me, still trembling a little, though as the moments pass so it seems does his desire to let me hold him. I understand his reasons, why it's easier for him not to become too comfortable here and I don't try to stop him as pulls out of my arms and then slips from my bed without saying a word to me.

We take turns showering and when it is time for Malcolm to leave I walk him to the door of my cabin. It seems silly considering my living space amounts to no more than few square yards at the most, but appropriate all the same. I'm never sure how to act around him afterwards. I briefly consider saying thank you but even rehearsing the words in my own mind sounds like I am praising him for services rendered and I know being with me means so much more to him than that. I settle for a kiss, which he accepts and returns though it pales in comparison to the ones that he had given me earlier tonight.

Usually I am out to it within minutes of one Malcolm's visits but it seem like ages that I simply lay awake after he's gone, thinking about him—thinking about us.