by The Grrrl

Title: Snowcones

Author: The Grrrl

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Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise

Pairing: Tucker/Reed

Rating: PG

Summary: 1.24 "Desert Crossing" postep fic.

Author's Notes: Just a silly little scene that wouldn't leave me alone. Not beta'd, so any error or typos are all my fault.

"You're kidding Malcolm. You never had a snowcone before?" asked Captain Archer.

Malcolm shook his head, looking dubiously at the mound of yellow snow nestled in the flimsy paper cone.

"Are they actually made of snow?" asked Dr. Phlox. His was a bright, unnatural green.

Trip chuckled. He was sitting up in his biobed, regarding his cherry red snowcone happily. "No, no, just crushed ice and flavored syrup. Or, if you are really lucky, you can find the kind with shaved ice. There's a difference, ya know." He bit into his with delight, causing bits of red snow to tumble down onto his lap.

"Seems awfully messy. Are you sure I can't use a spoon?" Malcolm asked.

"Of course it's messy, that's half the fun," replied the Captain, wiping his chin. He had purple drip marks on his t-shirt. "You know, this really does bring me right back to my childhood. I loved going to the country fair. It would be so hot and dusty, I'd get all dizzy from going on all the rides…I always got grape, and my Dad would get the lime one." He had a wistful smile on his face, remembering.

Next to Malcolm, the doctor was cautiously biting into his. "Hmmm. Very sweet. I can see the appeal to small children."

And big ones, thought Malcolm, watching Trip focus on his treat. Malcolm finally bit into his. Pineapple-flavored. Cold and sweet. Very nice indeed.

"You like it?" asked the Captain.

Mouth filled with sweet ice, Malcolm could only nod and grin.

"Hey, lemme have a taste," Trip asked him. "Never tried a pineapple one. Not exactly traditional."

Malcolm hesitated. It seemed a rather intimate thing to do in public. Especially with the way Trip was licking cherry syrup off his fingers. Still, it was impossible to resist the man. The other two men were busy with their own treats anyway. He held his cone out to his lover.

Trip put a sticky hand over Malcolm's to steady it, and bit into the mound of ice. A cold tongue flicked over Malcolm's fingers. Accident? Doubtful, considering the twinkle in Trip's eyes.

He began to consider other interesting, more private snowcone activities.

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