Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek; this is for pleasure not profit.
This story begins during the events of "In a Mirror, Darkly" and continues on after the end of the episode. Heed the warnings my friends, the mirror universe is a dark place.
"Come on, you son of a bitch," Archer grated through his teeth. "Is that all you've got?"
Tucker thrust harder into the man bent over before him. He was overheating. Neither man had taken the time to peel their shirts off; this was going to be quick and dirty, pants around the ankles.
They weren't lovers. There was nothing loving about what they did.
Tucker laughed mirthlessly, punctuating every word with his motions. "I got plenty, and you know it." He relished having his captain in a position usually reserved for subordinates. Tucker's reversal of fortune came years ago, after Archer's debacle with the Suliban at Rigel Ten. Archer's mistake led to an unforgivable loss to the Empire; Tucker had covered for him, made sure someone else took the blame and paid with their life.
Since then, he owned Archer's ass. In every way possible.
Archer moaned as Tucker hit his sweet spot, and then he gasped "Did you fuck the Vulcan this well?"
Tucker stroked harder, faster at the mention of T'Pol. He hadn't told Archer about it. Archer had just guessed, and he never let Tucker forget it.
"I guess not," breathed Archer, "Or else you'd be fucking her instead of me."
Tucker bristled at that. It shouldn't bother him, coming from someone whose ambitions had so completely failed him, he could only further his career on his back or on his knees. Charles suspected Archer's very survival had been maintained by his uncanny ability to leave any partner satisfied. Jon's recent success with taking the Defiant was going to his head, though. Once the novelty of seeing Jon walk with a little more swagger and his head held higher had worn off, it became apparent he was becoming crazed with power and maybe a little paranoid.
"Of course," Archer continued, "we all thought the bitch was a cold-blooded tease. We were wrong. Only a whore would fuck the likes of you."
Tucker had had enough. He reached around Archer's waist and pulled him closer. With his other hand, he pulled a knife from his boot and brought it to Archer's throat. "Don't speak about her," he spat.
Archer only snickered before he dissolved into his orgasm.
Tucker moaned at the sensation, nearly dropping the knife as he spilled inside him. He should have known better. Archer loved being on the receiving end of fear and pain even more than he liked dishing it out.
Catching his breath, Archer untangled himself and turned around, pulling up his pants. He smirked at Tucker, and Tucker half-expected a punch. Instead, Archer leaned over and kissed him on the mouth with such tenderness that Tucker had to remind himself it was just another manipulation. That didn't stop him, however, from returning the kiss.
Tucker nearly forgot where he was and what he was doing, but Archer soon broke the kiss. "The shield strength is only at 27 percent," he whispered. "If it's not up to 33 percent in 48 hours, I'll throw you back in the booth—right before I toss you out an airlock."
Tucker still had his pants around his ankles as Archer headed for the door. "The booth was destroyed," he murmured ineffectually, but Archer was gone.