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A Spacial Torpedo For Your Thoughts?

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Malcolm's lips quirked in a small smile as the door slid open, revealing the face of the one and only Charles Tucker the Third. Their eyes met and Trip smiled back at him. The engineer took two long, quick strides to the bunk were his husband sat and without a word, pulled the armoury officer to his feet. "Been lookin' forward to this all day," Trip murmured, brushing his lips lightly against Malcolm's ear.

A soft chuckle escaped Malcolm. He wrapped his arms around Trip's waist as he whispered, "Are you absolutely certain that you really want me to 'keep my shirt on,' Commander?"

Trip saw the mischievous twinkle in the smaller man's eyes and knew exactly what was coming next. He smirked and reached his hands for the top button on Malcolm's uniform. His nimble fingers skillfully undid said button, just as skillfully as they could repair a plasma relay. "In this case, Loo-ten-nant... that shirt's comin' off."

"Good," Malcolm replied softly, nipping at the Commander's ear. "It's too itchy for my liking."

"Do you think... we should tell them?" Trip asked hesitantly, his hands stopping and resting gently on his husband's chest. "'Bout us?"

Malcolm frowned, crossing his arms. "Why should we? It's none of their business. I mean, if you want to tell Captain Archer I can understand that, because he's your friend. But the rest of the crew we hardly even know. And more likely than not, if the Sub-Commander were to catch wind of this, she'd have both of us on the next Vulcan transport back to Earth." As much as Trip wanted to object, he knew Malcolm was right. If T'Pol found out, the first thing she would do was tell the Vulcan High Command. "Besides," Malcolm continued, "not even our parents know. Even if by some miracle she didn't make a fuss out of it, my father sure as hell would."

Trip nodded in agreement. "I know... I just wish that we didn't have to hide this part of our lives from everyone. I want people to know that love you. I wanna be able to go to a party, walk with you up to a buddy-a-mine, and say, 'Hey, meet my husband, Lieutenant Malcolm Tucker-Reed- ya touch him, you'll get zapped an' tossed in the brig faster than you can say 'flux capacitor meets DeLorean.'" Trip ducked his head down, his cheeks burning with shame.

"Trip..." Malcolm put a hand on the engineer's chin and tilted his head back up so they were again eye to eye. "That's exactly the kind of thing that, if... if our situation were different, I'd like to do with you." He pressed his lips gently against Trip's for a few seconds before pulling away. "I love you, Mistah Tuckah. With every fibre of my being, with every breath I take, and every heartbeat, to the end of time..."

"'Till death do us part,'" Trip threw in jokingly, earning another chuckle from the armoury officer in his arms.

"I love you, Trip." Malcolm took one of Trip's hands in his own and lifted it up, pressing his lips against the back. Then, as he lowered the Southerner's hand, he continued, "Nothing will ever change that."

A mischievous smirk flickered across Trip's face as he guided Malcolm towards the bunk. "Then prove it, Loo-ten-nant," he murmured, nipping the Brit's jawline flirtatiously. He started back on undoing the buttons of the armoury officer's uniform, then slid the top-half off when he was finished.

Malcolm replied, "Gladly, so long as no more half-crazed, ungrateful Klingons interrupt." This earned him a good laugh from the younger man in his arms and then to follow, a long passionate lovemaking session. Even if their marriage wasn't exactly the love story of the century, Malcolm wouldn't change any of it for the universe. Because all that mattered now was him and Trip.

Nothing and no one else.