"Blame It On The Chocolate"
Author's e-mail: email@example.com
Category: Slash/Humor/First Time
Summary: Trip and Malcolm's first
date doesn't quite go to plan.
T*M Disclaimer: Enterprise, the series, concepts and
characters, are the property, copyright and trademark of Paramount/Viacom. No
ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied
by the use of these characters in this story. This story is non-commercial, not
for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial
Comments: Everyone was so nice about my first fic, that I've been inspired to
inflict a sequel on you. That'll larn ya.
Trip Tucker was not having a good day.
Which was a little surprising, because it had started really well. After
weeks of dithering, blithering and long fruitless arguments with himself, he had
finally got up the nerve to ask Malcolm Reed on a date.
Well, sort of.
He hadn't actually said it was a date, after all. And Malcolm's spontaneous
but unsurprising discovery that the human body was incapable of extracting
oxygen directly from pancakes hadn't exactly helped.
But Malcolm had agreed to come to the Weapons Exhibition at the Kelakkan
Science Museum with him, and that was cause for celebration in Trip's book,
which, if it had been a real one, would doubtless have had Malcolm's name and
lots of cartoon hearts doodled across the cover.
The exhibition itself was quite interesting too; lots of bizarrely shaped
blades with intricately carved handles and ancient blunderbusses with muzzles
that wouldn't look out of place on a euphonium. Better still, Malcolm was in his
element, peering in fascination at various implements of mayhem and clearly
having a whale of a time imagining himself wreaking havoc with some of them.
The fly in the ointment was their Kelakkan guide, Minaka.
If Trip had thought about it at all, he'd assumed that their guide would be a
crusty old professor, who'd shuffle round after them and keep a vague eye on
them to make sure they didn't pocket any of the exhibits.
Minaka might well have been a professor, but he was neither crusty nor old,
as far as Trip could tell. He certainly didn't shuffle. In fact he was charming,
friendly and extremely knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the exhibits. He was
also quite handsome once you got used to the long mustache-like tentacles around
his mouth. The tentacles varied widely in colour between individual Kelakkans.
Minaka's were emerald green, matching his hair and eyes. All of which was
entirely forgivable if he hadn't latched onto Malcolm like a giant lamprey as
soon as he discovered the armory officer's enthusiasm for things that were sharp
and pointy or went boom, or better still, both.
Trip had never grown to hate anyone quite so quickly before. If looks could
kill, Minaka would have been a small charred patch on the Museum floor twenty
minutes into the tour.
//If he touches my Malcolm once more I'm gonna take that damned thing and
shove it where the sun don't shine, and to hell with diplomacy.// Trip thought
furiously, as the Kelakkan tapped Malcolm on the arm to draw his attention to
some detail of the antique battleaxe they were examining. One of the bright
green tentacles looked alarmingly as though it were about to caress the armory
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't do it, and not just because
Jon had promised faithfully that next time Trip screwed up a First Contact he'd
have a brig built so that he could personally throw Trip into it. That might not
even be so bad, if Malcolm was in charge of making sure he didn't escape.
No. He'd keep quiet and peer at curly Kelakkan swords and not slice Minaka
into teeny little pieces with them, because Malcolm was happy. And he wasn't
going to screw that up if he could help it.
God, he'd got it bad.
Trip blamed the chocolate.
If it hadn't been for that enticing cocoa scent drifting round the turbo lift
one morning on the way to the bridge he might have gone on happily floating
along De Nile river indefinitely. Or so he told himself. But he'd had to ask why
Enterprise's armory officer was going on duty smelling like an Oompa Loompa
who'd got too wrapped up in his work, hadn't he? Idiot.
Malcolm had flushed and muttered something unintelligible from which Trip had
managed to decipher the words "Travis" and "pudding". And something had hit Trip
like a sucker punch to the gut, leaving him wondering //What the hell was that,
and where did it come from?// as the lift decanted them both on to the bridge.
He spent the rest of the shift like a man who'd left his brain in his other
It wasn't until lunchtime, halfway through the grinning helmsman's account of
how he'd conned Malcolm into being pelted with pudding as part of a bogus
"boomer tradition" that Trip realised he'd automatically assumed a far more
erotic scenario. He'd been jealous. Because if anyone was going to lick pudding
off Malcolm, it should be him.
At which point the clue bus slewed to a halt outside a movie theatre whose
main feature was apparently entitled "YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH MALCOLM REED, YOU
FOOL". Trip had a sneaking feeling that he knew who was playing the lead in that
one. At least he hoped it was the lead and not the comedy sidekick.
"Commander?" Travis looked puzzled, as well he might, since his explanation
of why the chocolate scent was so persistent (some chemical he'd cajoled from
Phlox to make the pudding a better consistency turned out to also be an
extremely efficient scent fixative) hadn't really called for that sort of
"Sorry Travis. Just remembered somethin' important. Gotta
And he'd spent the next couple of weeks running, trying
to hide, failing miserably and snapping at everyone in reach, including Malcolm.
//Because that's really gonna help, isn't it?// he told himself on the latest
occasion as he watched Malcolm's face take on the I'm-
hurt-but-I-don't-want-anyone-to-know expression that always made Trip want to
kiss him. Ah, who was he kidding, any expression of Malcolm's made Trip want to
kiss him. Not to mention do other things to him that it was no use thinking
about, because even if Malcolm was interested, there was no way he'd ever
contemplate a relationship with a senior officer, was there?
Until finally he'd woken up this morning and decided that he had to do
something before he went completely hatstand and carved his and Malcolm's
initials on the warp core casing--and the fact that he could actually
contemplate doing that to the other love of his life proved how far gone he was.
That was when he'd checked his schedule for the day and found the invitation to
a guided tour of the Weapons Exhibition. Eureka! he'd thought.
Trip stared glumly at a watchamacallit hung on the wall in
front of him and wondered how you were supposed to kill someone with it. He
decided he could probably come up with several ways and was mentally trying a
few of them out on Minaka with moderately satisfying results, when Malcolm's
voice interrupted him.
"You're bored, aren't you commander?"
"No, no," he protested, still anxious not to spoil the fun, "Just fascinated
by this, er..."
It was the smirk that did it. That smirk had always driven him crazy,
although to begin with he hadn't known why. This time it made the last vestiges
of Trip's sanity merrily wave goodbye as they floated away past a display of
ornate thumbscrews--at least that's what Trip hoped they were and he'd
studiously avoided a closer look at them--and he thought vaguely that he was
almost certainly going to get up close and personal with one of the exhibits
very soon now, but dammit, at least he was going to get up close and personal
with Malcolm first.
And then he was kissing Malcolm and nothing else mattered for a while. It
took several seconds to register that not only was Malcolm not pushing him away
and looking for something to disembowel him with, he was actually kissing back
and pulling him closer, at which point Trip decided that sanity was decidedly
"Ah...sirs? " Hell. Why couldn't he kill Minaka, again? Oh. Yeah. Unhappy
Malcolm. Who he'd just kissed. In public. In front of Minaka. And a group of
wide-eyed, giggling Kelakkan preschoolers, apparently. He was definitely
But if he was dead, he seemed to have racked up enough good deeds to get into
heaven because Malcolm was smiling at him, and what's more, still had one arm
curled possessively around Trip's waist as he turned to speak to the guide.
"Our apologies, Minaka. No offence meant, we just got a little, ah... carried
But for some reason, Minaka was positively beaming at them, his tentacles
waving gently in the manner that Trip vaguely recalled meant great
"Offence sirs? But of course not! I can't begin to tell you how honoured we
"Honoured?" Trip was beginning to wonder if he was having some sort of
bizarre dream, and was about to wake up in his quarters. Or maybe the UT was
malfunctioning and Minaka had actually just called them a pair of repulsive
"But of course sirs! After all, it's not every day we see distinguished
offworld visitors plight their troth in our humble museum--you will hold the
wedding here, won't you?"
Oh, hell. Trip looked at Malcolm with incredulous despair and saw the same
expression glazing the face of his...fiance, apparently. He was definitely
doomed. If Malcolm didn't kill him for this, Jon would. He wondered if it was
too late to go for the bizarre dream option after all.
Something Borrowed, Something
Green is a continuation of this story.
material is posted here with the author's express permission. Please do not
repost this material without permission directly from the author.
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Two folks have made comments
This was so much fun, I just barely managed to get off the floor *LOL*
thanks for making my day :-)