Author's Note: I got this fic idea while watching the December 11 episode of Enterprise, the one where Trip rescues the First Sovereign chick. So. Yes. That more or less explains the set up. It's more of a ficlet than a fic. But it demanded to be written. So I did. The title basically means "It's my fault". I don't own the crew of Enterprise or anything to do with them.
"Commander Tucker."
Trip winced and sighed at the harsh tone in Malcolm's cold voice. The armoury officer had avoided him the five days since the Centra Prime warship had picked up the First Sovereign, and Trip thought he knew why. Reluctantly, he rolled out from under the generator he had been adjusting and stood up, facing the stiff form of Reed. "Yes, Ma - Lieutenant Reed?"
"Can I speak with you a moment in my quarters." Malcolm said it in the same dead tone, poker-faced and gaze fixed on spot above Trip's right shoulder.
Trip sighed internally. "Of course," he gestured expansively. "Lead the way."
As Malcolm stalked down the corridor in front of him, Trip braced himself for the outburst he knew would come as soon as they entered his quarters. So Trip totally wasn't prepared for getting jumped the moment the door had closed. He staggered back against the wall as Malcolm furiously claimed his lips in a sweet kiss. Trip groaned and Malcolm's tongue took advantage of it to flick gently against his teeth. Their bodies ground together as their tongues sparred briefly before Trip broke off and gasped, "What the hell was that all about?"
"Was it better?" Malcolm demanded.
"Than what?"
"That queenly bint!"
Trip sighed. "God, Malcolm, you know about that?"
Malcolm shoved him against the wall and turned away. "The whole bloody ship knows about it!"
"Look, I'm sorry -"
"Sorry?" Malcolm rounded on him. "You're sorry?" He took a deep breath, as if to say something, before turning away again. "Why? Why did you do that to me?"
Trip wrapped his arms around Malcolm's waist, but he shrugged them off and moved away. Trip sighed. "Malcolm, I don't know! I was horny and she was hot and oh-so-willing . . ."
"Hot and willing?" Malcolm snorted. "Is that why you're banging me, then? Hot and willing!"
"No! Hell no! Malcolm -" Trip sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "Malcolm, believe me. I don't know why I did it, I'm sorry I did. We hadn't . . . in days. A man has needs!" At Malcolm's stricken look, Trip once again tried to make things right. "I would never hurt you on purpose," he said earnestly. "I love you. Nothin' will change that. Please believe me!"
There was a long moment of awkward silence. Malcolm stood, facing away from Trip with his hand firmly planted on his desk. Trip stood behind him, hands out-stretched in supplication. When Malcolm made no reply, Trip sighed and dropped his hands. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and turned back towards the door. He didn't quite reach it when he was hauled around and again pinned to the wall by Malcolm's insistent kisses. In a flurry of fumbling hands and clothing, somehow they made it to the bed and made up. Over and over and over. And over again.
Much later, Malcolm lay curled up on Trip's chest, feeling much better. "Trip . . ." he murmured.
"Yes, love?"
"You never answered my question."
"Hm?"
"Was it better?"
Trip laughed, but caught himself at the hurt puppy-dog look on Malcolm's face. "Of course it was better! Everything about you is better than some stuck-up tight-assed aristocrat."
Malcolm almost giggled. "I've most certainly not got a tight ass."
"Mmm . . . you've got a perfect ass," Trip's hand wandered down to caress the anatomy in question. Malcolm curled himself closer against the other man.
"Don't stop . . . when's your next shift?"
"21:00," Trip replied, glancing at the clock. "Another eight hours."
"Oh good," Malcolm sighed and relaxed. "I'm up at 19:00."
"Well, seeing as we've got the time to spare . . ." Trip waggled his eyebrows and Malcolm laughed as Trip switched his position and began apologizing all over again.