Engulfing – Revised version
Life engulfs. Revision and posting of story from other site. 'M' rating, some reality, some most definitely not, with apologies to S.
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A.N. Okay thinking about this - I have decided to change this story which had been rated an 'M' to a 'T' - as it is probably the entire story to be examined and not just some 'juicy bits' . . . I apologize if I offend.
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The pool water was warm, surrounded him in its embrace, engulfed and held him captive . . . no air to breathe and couldn't hold his breath very long because of his allergies. The chlorine made him wheeze – it was musty and damp.
Stuart Reed stared at the miserable child huddled in front of him. "What do you mean you don't like to swim? You will learn to swim! You can't join the Navy if you can't swim! Get back out there! No son of mine is a coward! You are worthless!"
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Malcolm and Trip were on a ferry in the Puget Sound, just off the Pacific Ocean – and Trip had to go to the vehicle deck and out past the sign that said, 'Authorized Personnel Only'. The Southerner loved the salt water and the color of the sea here was a deep blue-green that spoke of the ocean depths, of secret passages, of explorations. He stood at the prow of the ship, feeling the force of the wind against his face, and the churn of the waves as the engines forced passage . . . It was glorious.
Malcolm followed his love, his husband. "You didn't happen to see that sign, did you?" He kept a hand on a post that was affixed oddly, planted just aft of where Trip was standing, thick 'rubber' bumpers stacked upon it. Reed didn't give it much thought other than it was 'safe', and stood next to it watching Trip watch and enjoy the voyage from Seattle. This was just another place where his love was 'in his element', and felt comfortable.
"Malcolm, relax. We both know how to swim." Trip reached out and pulled the lieutenant to him until he was standing next to him facing the ocean. (Still a treacherous thought – death by being chopped by propeller came to mind . . .)
It was both exhilarating and very frightening. Malcolm's heart was pounding, yet he felt so deeply loved, held so securely by Trip. He leaned into his commander, both grinning with joy.
Who wouldn't want to be on the ocean on such a bright, sunny day?
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"I thought you said, 'that stuff wasn't 'eatable' '. I like to eat it, but you said it was full of 'chemicals'." Trip was driving the ground car, so he gave his husband a quick look and didn't like what he saw.
He knew Malcolm had the 'flu', a fever, and a raspy voice; now the man was sweating and laughing at things he normally wouldn't have thought funny. Lieutenant Commander Reed was sick, and Captain Tucker wasn't sure what to do. 'I'm an engineer, not a doctor!' he thought.
Malcolm noticed Trip's comment a bit late. "Yes, chemicals, calories, salt, sugar." He took one of the double cracker 'sandwiches' and opened it up, exposing the orange cheese-mimicking substance in the center. "And this 'darling' – trying to copy Trip's accent, but failing – "is not cheese. Not even 'American cheese'."
He ate the object under discussion, desperate to get some food to settle his hunger for the moment. The salt and sugar tasted just fine; he knew he was very ill but Malcolm wanted Trip to get his driving vacation across the American continent which he had talked about for so long. Polished off another bottle of carbonated soda of a flavor that didn't even remotely exist in nature. 'Ah, caffeine and sugar.'
Trip was glad that they were almost at their motel. Malcolm had just 'swilled down' another soda, and presumably 'would need to the facilities' soon. He felt a too-warm hand on his knee, and his husband's voice saying, "You're so good to me, you know that?"
It was later, after they had gone to bed, that Trip realized in a very forceful way, that Malcolm was very sick. Normally the former security officer would have laid down on his left side (at home that was facing the door with himself at Malcolm's back,) as the Englishman felt 'secure' that way.
But now, every time Malcolm started to get into a reclining position, he would start coughing, a deep, barking cough that sounded as if his lungs were getting ripped out.
Finally Malcolm gave up and just sat, propped up on the bed, trying to rest with pillows, sitting up. "This is bloody stupid!" He was hot and miserable, with a splitting headache. (Anything less than a full upright position made him feel like he was drowning, and while he wasn't in water, the panic of not being able to breathe properly would take over. It was stressful.)
Trip made a command decision. "Darlin', we're drivin' right home. I want you to see the docs at Starfleet Medical. You're really sick."
"But you wanted to go see some of the land – the desert – ", Malcolm was interrupted by Trip who broke his train of thought.
"Malcolm, I want to see 'it' with you. And you're really sick. It wouldn't be any fun without you. Tomorrow we drive home. Okay?" Trip cupped his hand beneath his love's jaw and drew his thumb across his lips. It was a secret kiss between them when an obvious sign of affection would have been inappropriate. This time though he pulled Malcolm toward him and gave him an additional kiss on his warm forehead.
Being so loved . . . it made the Englishman cry.
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Fields of ripe 'grasses' covered the hillside, they looked like wheat, but of course it not being Earth, they weren't wheat fields. Looked like wheat fields though, a sea of golden brown reaching to the horizon. And what an horizon it was – robin's egg blue sky with pristine white clouds, even the smell was very much like Earth, the soil rich and welcoming . . .
The couple had heard that this was a pleasant planet to visit, 'to spend' their vacation, the Starfleet officers Captains Tucker and Reed, the former retired, the latter active duty, and they enjoyed the combination of both the familiar and the exotic.
Reed was captain of the Federation starship Dauntless; he had had the opportunity to bring his husband with him, as he travelled the galaxy. His was a science vessel, primarily involved in peaceable missions, though from a distance he maintained research in weapons systems and defense. (And wrote books, a couple on tactics, a third being a fantasy, and lastly wrote poetry – mainly private.)
Today they were taking 'a hike' as Trip called it and made their way back toward the little house that they had rented. Large herbivores had made their way through 'the grasses', leaving trails that the men followed. A wind blew across fields, causing the golden sea to ripple.
"My, isn't that pretty!" exclaimed Trip taking in the view. "Come here!" He grabbed Malcolm by the arm,, and drew him close. He started to pull at Malcolm's clothing, pushed his hands under the Englishman's shirt, felt the nubs of his nipples, massaged them as they tightened up.
"'Horny,' are we?" Reed had a feral grin on his face. As he aged, Malcolm Reed became more hawk-like, less prone to be taken as 'harmless' – his subordinates called him (as he was well aware) 'the old man'. "Why don't you stand there and look magnificent?"
At his love's nodded agreement, Malcolm quickly disrobed, leaving on his socks and shoes. He then knelt down in front of the still clothed Tucker, who was indeed looking like his 'lord and master', and unzipped his pants, pulling them down to Trip's knees.
(Trip's underwear was always dyed blue, it had to be blue in color even if it wasn't regulation Starfleet. He even mentioned it to Malcolm the second time they were 'making love'; 'Darlin', I always wear blue underwear. I like the color', was the memory of the words that the Englishman held in his mind. There was an emotional element to 'blue underwear' in Trip's mind that Malcolm never could fathom.)
Malcolm glided Trip's blue underwear down to his knees, opening up a full exposure of the man's 'cock and balls'. (That was how his husband referred to those body parts, and Malcolm had long ago decided to adapt himself to his brash lover's mode of speaking about himself.) Tucker was becoming aroused, and Reed decided to 'help' the process by first licking and gently sucking his balls. "Somebody's getting excited!" exclaimed the Southerner who started to reach down to Malcolm.
"Please, Trip. Just stand there. I'm not finished," Malcolm said with feeling. He switched his attention to his husband's cock, now fully engorged. Felt the slit in front with his tongue and tasted the pre-cum as it oozed forth. Indulged in a favorite fantasy, that of being a very small being that could crawl inside and feel over his entire body the ardor of Trip's love.
Sucked for several blissful moments until Trip said, "I'm about ready." Malcolm disengaged , and again with a feral smile said, "You know what I like." "But I don't have any lube," replied the disappointed Trip.
The Englishman produced a small tube from somewhere in his clothes. "I am always 'prepared'," he glibly said and gave it to his love standing above him. "Fuck me, 'Commander'!" It was a well-used order.
"Aye, aye, Capt'n," was the reply to the man of 'naval heritage and bearing'. Trip took the lube and slathered it over his 'oh so ready' cock and lowered it into Malcolm's ass. His husband seemed to enjoy a strong push, a rush of being dominated, controlled – 'you must take me by force' – and this time was no different.
Trip pushed hard into Malcolm, who gasped with pleasure, then felt the rhythm of his love thrusting in and out, coming to climax at the same time as the younger man; Trip shooting 'his load' into Reed, covering this ground of this foreign, alien land – some traditions never die.
Malcolm got back up, helped Trip dress. Then quickly, dressed himself, and they continued on their walk back to the rented house. He knew that Trip had enjoyed himself.
This was his last voyage with the Dauntless. Malcolm had accepted a position at Starfleet headquarters, and his promotion to admiral that came with the assignment. Trip was having cognitive problems and Captain Reed would have thought it tragic if somehow his love had gotten out an airlock or attempted 'engineering' mid-warp, dying because of misadventure. He'd feign happiness for the sake of his Trip.
For the sake of others you must sacrifice yourself.
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It was a year after Trip's death. Admiral Malcolm Reed stood on the Pensacola beach, high above the water line, staring at the constant waves. Almost midday, the time he had chosen to pour a bottle of his husband's favorite beer, and spread rose petals in the surf.
"I can do this, I can do this," he muttered softly. The water, the ocean still frightened him, all these years. It wasn't the aspect of death that haunted him. Christ! He knew 'the grim reaper' as a friend. Rather that the ocean would engulf him.
(And he was 'engulfed' by a memory . . . when Trip felt good, they would take a 'stroll' arm in arm around their neighborhood in San Francisco. Charles Tucker was a good-looking man and still garnered smiles from those they met. And they would stop at 'Taffy's house' as Trip called it, where an old Irish Setter would come out to greet them.
Malcolm never knew where the captain got the name for the dog of 'Taffy', but the animal always greeted them both as long-lost friends, old, old dog that had much grey fur, amongst the red.
One day 'Taffy' didn't show up, and while Malcolm missed the old dog, he was mostly very upset by the lack of interest on Trip's part. He didn't seem to remember that they usually stopped to meet 'Taffy'. It was another 'loss' to be accepted . . .
Reed took the captain on to their next destination, an elaborate rose garden, where the owner must have spent hours upon hours working to keep it in good shape. (Trip never did know much about roses, but Malcolm loved the flowers. One of his earliest 'adult' books was a guide to various types of roses that his mother had left lying around the house, and he appropriated it to look at the pictures, learning eventually how to read both English and Latin species names.)
"See love," he'd always begin, "those are climbing roses. They get very tall, and look good next to the building, that house. Aren't the bright yellow roses and the dark green leaves so beautiful together?" And he would point to the plant and house. "Climbing roses. Beautiful," the former captain would repeat. "Like yellow."
"Yes, Trip. It's your favorite color." Malcolm hesitated remembering the yellow roses and other flowers he'd given his husband over the years. "There are some more yellow roses over there – that one's almost orange, isn't?" And so it would continue, Malcolm going through the colors and types of roses. Did this every time since Trip couldn't remember.
The day of Trip's funeral, after the wake – it was still daylight. Malcolm again took a 'stroll' through the neighborhood, visiting the places where he would go with Trip. 'Taffy's house' was sold, new owners and a new color of paint. Then walked over to the rose garden house where he got a shock.
The garden was dead. Blackened bushes of dead roses mocked his eyes. It was all very sad; tears formed in his eyes. An older man was digging up the 'remains' with a pickaxe. Malcolm got his attention, this was something he had to inquire about. Normally he would have thought it none of his business. "What happened to the beautiful garden?"
"It got infected by blight – wiped out all the roses. But I figure that God was telling me to start fresh, you know?" He looked at Reed's uniform with its admiral's stripes, metals all a-glittering, and the black armband on his sleeve. Gave a sad smile. "Clear the deck, as it were."
The gardener thought for a moment, hesitated, then asked. "Was it your friend, that passed away, the one you would show the roses to?"
"Yes," Malcolm could barely speak. He'd never met this man. Did he see the two of them from his house?" As if a mind reader, the man said, "I used to see you from inside. I would have come out but I thought it best if your friend didn't have to deal with someone strange. I'm sorry for your loss."
Despite his misgivings meeting someone new, Reed spoke up. "Thank you," replied the admiral. "I can't talk right now, but I would like to see your new garden as you plant it." "Certainly," the gardener smiled, "just knock on the front door, and if I'm home I'll show you."
And over the following months, Admiral Malcolm Reed acquired a friend, someone to share stories and relieve stress.)
It was time to pour the beer and spread the petals. Malcolm strode up to the waves encroaching on the beach. He poured the contents of the bottle as the water lapped at his feet. Spreading the petals in the water, he hoped that Trip knew that he was always loved, and wished that Trip's love still surrounded him. He wanted that Trip had found peace at last. Cried, and the tears fell in the water.
Suddenly a little girl came up with a handful of the rose petals. Her mother was right behind her, saying "Honey, no." And "Sorry," to Malcolm. The child tried to hand him back the petals, as in her mind, he must have dropped them by accident. He took them from her hand, and said to her, "thank you, dear." And to her mother, "no, it's okay."
That's the thing about life, it engulfs you.
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