Sato
The chime rings only a few moments after it would have been exceptionally ill-timed.
As it is, I lift my head from Malcolm's still rapidly rising and falling chest, and call out – in a voice that tries hard not to sound either guilty or breathless, just in case – "Who is it?"
"Just bringin' you that PADD you asked me to check out, Ensign."
"Come in, Trip."
I feel the body beside me quake with silent laughter at the double meaning of that reply, and the two of us glance up as the door opens. Sure enough, the new arrival does indeed have the PADD in his hand that I'd handed him in the Mess Hall yesterday evening, but by the careless way he tosses it on to the desk he doesn't seem to feel there had been anything very seriously wrong with it – if, indeed, there was anything at all.
"Now there's a sight for sore eyes." Trip glances across the cabin at the two of us still twined together on the bunk. "Give me a minute to get these clothes off and I'll be with ya."
"You're the chief engineer, can't you find some excuse to extend this bunk?" Malcolm grumbles, bestirring himself sufficiently to shift over a little. "It's bloody cramped with two of us in it. Three of us is the outside of enough."
"I can find an excuse, sure, but the problem would be gettin' the cap'n to sign it off." He grins, pushing down his pants. He's already showered; his hair is still sticking up in damp points from the quick toweling. "And even if I got it past him, sure as eggs some pen-pusher in HQ'd spot it and raise hell."
"I thought you were busy," I purr, my pulse quickening again as the thought crosses my mind – not for the first time – that I'm the luckiest girl in Starfleet.
"Managed to get the reports finished early. Had to make sure Mal here did his job properly." He leans over and kisses us both passionately.
"Not bragging or anything, mate, but I'm pretty sure I did," Malcolm drawls as his mouth is finally released. "Still, I'm sure Hoshi's up for an encore, and I dare say I'll find something to do."
=/\=
Much later, peace descends again over the now distinctly crowded bunk, though it's required a certain amount of maneuvering to get everybody reasonably comfortable.
"We can't stay here, Mal," says Trip sleepily. "Don't get yourself too cozy."
"Mf," is the slurred reply. Malcolm, it seems, is uninterested in the idea of returning to his own quarters anytime soon.
"So about shore leave." I'm deliciously sandwiched between them, and don't want them to leave either, but although my body is so sated that it feels as though my bones are made of warm toffee, I'm not ready to sleep just yet. I'm pressed up against Trip's chest, Malcolm's spooned up against my back with his upper arm wrapped around my ribcage, and this feels like a suitably private moment to discuss our real plans for the break back on Earth.
Trip makes some attempt to cover a cavernous yawn. "What 'bout it?"
"I'm sure you didn't tell us about that barn conversion at your parents' place just to make polite conversation," I say, digging him in the ribs.
From somewhere around the back of my neck come some muttered words of which I can only make out 'shagging party'.
"You two only want me for my body," he sniffs.
The reply to this definitely contains the word 'arse', and it might have been an insult or a compliment, but Malcolm only grumbles it into his small portion of pillow and refuses to repeat it. He obviously just wants to go to sleep, but I'm not ready to let him.
"You will come, won't you?" I demand, reaching back over my shoulder to gently tug a handful of disheveled dark hair.
"He will if I have anything to say about it," says Trip with a lascivious grin, the double meaning so open that I grin in return.
With us lying in such close proximity, Malcolm has pushed my hair up on the pillow to keep it out of his face. The small hairs on the back of my neck that are exposed by this are flattened by such a typhoon of an exasperated sigh that I half expect him to start hyperventilating from lack of oxygen.
He evidently gives up on the hope of catching a nap before he and Trip have to return to their own quarters, and leans up to drape himself across my side.
"Well, obviously I'm keen on the idea," he says, running his hand idly along the smooth flank opposite us, "but I do wonder if you've really thought this through."
It's Trip's turn to be exasperated. "Jeez, Mal, do you always have to look on the downside of everything?"
Malcolm's lids have been sleepily lowered, but at this they flick up, and his voice sharpens a little. "Old habit. I go looking for trouble before it comes looking for me."
"What makes you think there'll be a problem?" I ask, brushing his hair up the wrong way so he looks like a hedgehog; I know this annoys him, and he catches my hand and bites it lightly before pressing a kiss on each of the knuckles.
He puts his head back down without answering. His expression is troubled, as though he's trying to think of a way to say what he means without giving offense.
Trip, however, is watching him closely, and the grin has turned wry. "I guess I know what you're thinkin'."
There's a measure of relief in Malcolm's face. "I think it's something that has to be addressed."
If there was room to do so, I suspect that Trip would have rolled on to his back. As it is, only his head can turn, and that with limited comfort, as he doesn't have much of the pillow either.
"Well, you're right." He stares up at the ceiling above the bunk. "If … Look, my folks are old-fashioned. Most of the people in that neck of the woods are, at heart. It's not that I …"
"Tell the truth and shame the Devil, mate."
The blue eyes come back to him, now also troubled. Trip takes a deep breath. "I think they could accept me an' Hoshi."
There's no sound, but for a second time I feel the brief quake of laughter in the body pressed against me. This time, however, it's not amused but bitter, and I know with pain that once again Malcolm feels rejection of what he is. My first, instinctive, angry protest – that I'd have thought people would have outgrown such antiquated attitudes centuries ago – has to be stifled. This kind of prejudice is too ancient to be uprooted readily, and Trip's instinctive loyalties to his family have to be taken into account. He's not responsible for their attitudes, and shouldn't be made to feel bad for not wanting to cause a rupture by revealing a relationship that would be such an anathema to them; even if in an ideal world he'd speak out bravely and not give a damn what anyone thought, we aren't living in an ideal world, and there are plenty of people who'd pay handsomely for such a scurrilous story about three of the 'heroes of the Expanse' being discovered in a sordid little threesome. Once that was out, the world's Press would have a field day with it.
The thought forces me to confront what would be felt by my own family if it should be discovered that I'm in a relationship with two bisexual senior officers at the same time. It's a prospect I've tried to avoid thinking of, but I can't avoid it now. My parents would be absolutely appalled; they'd think of me as a whore, and my entire family would disown me. As for my jiichan, who was my emotional rock through a childhood warped by the early discovery of my linguistic talents, the shock of it would probably kill him outright.
"Well, that certainly killed the atmosphere," says Malcolm dryly, when the ensuing silence has gone on too long.
"I feel like a damned coward," Trip answers bitterly. "I know what I oughta do. But they've … it's been real difficult for them. Especially with losin' Lizzie an' all. I know that sounds like an excuse, but…"
A finger comes to rest lightly on his lips. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Your family means a lot to you. I understand that. Actually, I envy it."
The words confirm something I've sometimes suspected, that his own family background isn't a happy one. Having monitored Captain Archer's conversation with the Reeds on the subject of Malcolm's favourite foods (being involved in the quest myself, I'd felt entitled to eavesdrop just for once), I can understand all too easily why he might feel the contrast with the demonstrative, affectionate Tucker clan Trip has talked about so often.
It explains a lot about his reserve, his isolation, and his reluctance to commit to any kind of involvement. Although even now he won't talk much about his family or his past, I know he thinks of the crew of Enterprise as his real family, and in a sudden rush of jealousy I wrap my arm around his shoulders as best I can, trying to offer a little comfort. I hope he feels, as I do, that there's more to the relationship the three of us have than sex; hope he understands how vital a part of my life he has become.
I watch Trip reach over to gently cup his jaw with one hand. "I don't ever want to hurt you, Mal."
Malcolm accepts the kiss that follows, prolonged and tender, but his eyelashes are still lowered. So often he still retreats behind his barriers, and I wonder if he knows how obvious it is, to me at least.
"Look. We'll make this work. We will make it work somehow. Even if … even if we have to do without any 'shaggin''." The chief engineer's attempt to mimic an upper-class British accent breaks the tension in an explosion of laughter. "'S long as we can just be together, the three of us. That's what matters most to me. Don't know about you guys."
A wicked smile curves Malcolm's mouth as he pretends to ponder. "Oh, I don't know, I'll have to think about that one. It was only the 'humpin'' I was coming along for." He's a much better mimic than Trip, and doesn't have much chance of dodging the playful whack that aims for his head and turns into a caress that once again ruffles his hair in all directions. "Bloody hell, what is it with you two and my hair?"
"It's the contrast," I tease. "When I look across the Bridge at you sitting there all prim and proper, I love thinking about how you look after a night with us two."
"Absolutely knackered, for one thing," he groans. "Which reminds me, if I'm not going to be nodding off at Tactical tomorrow I'd better get back to my own bed. I'm not bloody getting any sleep here, all you two want to do is yap all night." He yelps as I reach down and squeeze unexpectedly. "You are joking, aren't you?"
"Just checking. I realize he's had a good workout."
"He's like me. Needs some R and R before he's raring to go again." With a moan of effort he peels his body away from me and sits up.
Unlike Trip's, his clothes are laid neatly across the back of a chair. He gets himself into them slowly, pausing every now and then to groan stuff like how he's not as young as he used to be. I hope he's not expecting sympathy, because he doesn't get any from either of us, who are both younger than he is and don't let him forget it.
When he's fully dressed and looks respectable again, he comes back across the room and kisses the both of us. "Don't forget and nod off in there, however tempting it is," he warns Trip sternly. "If the captain wants to know where you are in the morning, I want to know which door to hammer on. And it'd better be yours."
Trip has rolled over on top of me. A hand waves him away. "Just 'cause you old folks aren't up for it any more…"
"I wouldn't worry, Malcolm. There'd be more life in one of last week's corn dogs."
"Hey! That's a real cuttin' thing to say about a man, Hoshi!"
"I'll leave you to the pleasures of attempting to raise the dead." He winks at me and walks to the door. Even now he never relaxes his wariness: he pulls a PADD from his pocket and checks that the corridor outside is empty before he presses the door release. Moments later, he's gone.
If you've enjoyed this, please leave a review!