Author's URL: http://www.rivatar.com/aa/
Summary: An embarrassingly funny situation!
Disclaimer (added by Li):
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 purposes.
It's very difficult trying to concentrate on phase cannons when Trip Tucker
is bending over in front of you. He's got the type of arse that makes you
realise why rimming is so popular. I know I can barely resist the urge
to grab him by the hips and bite my way through his uniform.
not going to think about Trip lying face down, and arse up on my bed. I'm not
going to think about the noises he'd make if I tongued his arsehole. Bugger it,
I bet he's a moaner. That lazy drawl transformed into breathy
What the Hell am I doing? Phase cannons. Think about the damned
phase cannons. They need realigned, which is why he's here. He's not here to wag
his arse at me. He's working.
With his arse in my fucking face.
He's a superior officer. I wonder what the penalty is for biting a superior
Let's find out, shall we?
Damn, I can almost feel Malcolm's breath on my ass. I'd forgotten what a
tight fit it is above the phase canons. I don't remember Malcolm being that
close when we installed them. Mind you, I spent most of that week pissed at him.
No sleep, getting attacked out of the blue, and untested weaponry aren't really
great mood-setters for romance.
How long has it been since someone was that close to my ass? Hmm, I haven't
had anyone's face there since before we left Earth. I wonder if he knows what
it's doing to me, having him damned near kissing my ass-crack? Making me imagine
what it would be like if I was out of uniform and he was three inches
Hell, he is closer! He's *YOW*!
Oh shit. That wasn't what I meant to do. I hope he's okay.
You know, I think humans would be much better off if they just picked a few
mating rituals and got on with it. The bizarre social interactions associated
with humans in this area is very interesting from a scientist's point of view,
but to be honest, I'm amazed they ever mate at all.
Take Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, for example. Mr Tucker brought Mr
Reed in for treatment of a broken nose and appears reluctant to sit down.
Neither of them is looking at the other. Discreet scans show signs of elevated
hormones and neurotransmitters, consistent with these injuries being inflicted
during a period of mild arousal for both parties.
I'll just slip around behind Mr Tucker... oh. I don't think he'd be too happy
to realise I can scan him through his clothing, but that's very interesting. The
imprint of Mr Reed's teeth on his left buttock. Quite deep bruising too. I
believe another passage in my 'same sex relationships in a closed social
environment' paper is in order.
A scientist really shouldn't interfere with his test subjects, but they'll be
impossible until this is resolved. I think a couple of hours in decontamination
needs to be arranged. Hmmm, do I have anything in here that I'm immune to, is
conveniently spillable and mostly harmless?
Ah yes. Oops, silly me. I'll just go get the extra large tubs of gel, shall
Oh God, it's such a cliché. Is there a single person on board that
hasn't thought about being locked in decon with Trip and a big jar of
lube? Uh, decontamination gel. Whatever you do, don't call it lube, Malcolm,
don't even think of it as lube. Don't think about spreading all over
Trip's arse before… shit, it's the purple stuff; that's the extra slippery one.
The one that tastes like Bird's custard with a spoonful of strawberry jam
I've just realised, there's no way in Hell I'm not going to get hard. I can
try to hide it, but he'll notice, and we'll both be embarrassed. We're
embarrassed anyway. Actually, I have nothing to lose. Now I just have to
convince Trip that since we're in here anyway…
He just asked me to pass him the lube.
Ah crap, I called it lube. But for chrissakes, it's the purple stuff. That
stuff's even lubier than actual lube. Even if I wasn't considering asking
Malcolm to fuck me hard against the wall that stuff would still be lube in my
mind. Gah! Stop thinking the word 'lube', it's starting to sound funny.
Oh well, at least now he knows the ass-biting thing is mutual. Sorta. Not
that I'm into biting asses, but Malcolm probably guessed that already, what with
the flailing limbs and broken nose. I suppose I should apologise for that, but
for some reason I've been stunned speechless.
Oh. Hey. Feral is a good look for Malcolm. Did he just lose all his English
Right, I have them in decon, I found that gel Ensign Cutler insists on
calling 'the purple lube', all I need to do now is remind them that the gel must
be applied thoroughly to all body parts.
Ah. I don't believe that's going to be necessary after all.
Hmm, human anatomy is quite remarkable. And stretchy, apparently.
A/N: Bird's custard is beloved by every British person, despite it's
disturbingly bright shade of yellow.
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