Driven To Distraction

by The Grrrl

Title: Driven To Distraction

Author: The Grrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@yahoo.com

Author's URL: http://www.geocities.com/coffeeslash/thegrrrl/

Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise

Date: March 2002

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Sequel to "Payback." Malcolm has a very difficult day, trying to figure out who the bloody hell it was.

Note: First-place winner, Best ENT Series/Suite, 2002 Golden Orgasm award.

Author's Notes: This is the final part in this series. I think. Unless some really evil idea pops into my head. A big thank you to Kim, my beta, for her great feedback. Thank you, thank you!

Malcolm woke early, and was unable to get back to sleep. Finally he carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb his lover. He needed to get to the messhall before anyone else. The fewer people he saw today the better. He did not want to risk running into anyone who could have been the participant in Trip's little stunt.

After showering, he stood in front of the bed drying himself, watching Trip sleeping peacefully. He had never been involved with a man like this before. Never had someone make him feel this way. Or maybe, he decided thoughtfully, he never had a lover who made him feel so much, period. Right now he desperately wanted to shake Trip, strike him, force him to admit who it was. But even more, he wanted to crawl back under the covers and wrap his body around the warm, sleeping man. He wanted to make love to him, wanted to give himself over to him completely.

Hell. He settled for throwing the damp towel at Trip's head.

With a satisfactory yelp, Trip woke and stared at Malcolm sleepily. Then a broad grin spread across his face. "C'mon back to bed, darlin', it's too early for you to be goin' anywheres." He yawned and stretched invitingly.

Malcolm began to feel warm. Shouldn't have woken him. The urge to leap back into bed with his lover was strong, and it took all his willpower to turn away.

"Sorry, Commander. I have work to do," he said, busying himself getting dressed. He avoided looking back at the bed.

Trip sighed. "Your shift don't start for another two hours."

Malcolm didn't answer him.

***

He ate his breakfast at a corner table by himself. Wished he could blend in with the wall, Suliban-style. Wolfing down his food, he finished in ten minutes, barely tasting it. Then made his escape as the room slowly filled with sleepy men and women.

He thought he had made it until he rounded the last turn too quickly, nearly knocking Travis over. His last minute dodge caused him to stumble. The young man reached out a hand to steady him

"Whoa, Lieutenant, where's the fire?" asked Travis, laughing.

Malcolm forced himself to smile pleasantly, all the while searching the man's handsome face. "Sorry, wasn't watching where I was going," Malcolm apologized. Travis. Travis straddling his head, panting…..

"Did you enjoy the show last night?"

The smile froze on Malcolm's face. He couldn't answer. Didn't know what to say.

Eyeing him curiously now, Travis continued, "The movie? Weren't you there? Thought I saw you in the back."

"Oh right, yes, the movie. It was fine."

"If you don't mind me asking, are you all right sir?"

Travis sounded genuinely concerned. Was that a hint of amusement in his dark eyes? "I'm fine, Ensign. Just fine. In a bit of a rush." With a curt nod he continued on, leaving the perplexed man behind.

He decided to make use of the far lift, which would hopefully have the least amount of traffic. The corridor was empty when he reached it. Pushing the call button, he took a deep, slow breath, trying to collect himself. As the door opened, he took one last furtive look over his shoulder before he entered.

"Good Morning, Lieutenant."

Malcolm stared in dismay at the Captain, then turned in time to see the door closing. Trapped. He hit the button for the next stop.

"'Morning, Sir," he greeted the Captain, trying for a casual tone. To his own ears his voice sounded high-pitched. He dared a brief glance at the man's face. Saw nothing suspicious. Just a friendly grin on his lips. Lips. Where those lips on his body last night, kissing him, sucking his…? Malcolm looked away, suddenly sure that he was blushing. The thought was ridiculous. This man was the Captain of the ship.

"Everything all right, Malcolm?"

"Fine, sir, just fine." His mantra for the morning. He examined the gray walls, realizing he should say something, make some sort of small talk. So, was that your cock in my mouth last night? "And how are things with you, Sir?" Just brilliant.

The Captain leaned forward, tilting his head slightly. "Did you hurt your wrist?"

Malcolm realized he was unconsciously rubbing where the restraints had bit into his skin. There was a red mark on his right wrist that he hadn't noticed earlier. He clasped his hands behind his back, away from his Captain's view.

"No, Sir, it's—fine—oh, here's my stop."

Thankfully the door opened and he dashed out. Of all people to be on the lift, he thought. He examined his wrist more carefully, trying to decide if the cause of the red line on his skin was obvious. If he had seen a similar mark on someone else he'd know immediately, but maybe not everyone had the same experiences as he. He was still pondering the situation when he found himself in engineering. And face to face with Crewman Rostov.

"Lieutenant—I have something you want."

Malcolm frowned suspiciously. Before he could speak, Rostov continued, "The new targeting array specifications. I just finished them." He handed over the padd proudly.

Malcolm looked at the hand offering the padd. Had that hand been stroking his body last night?

"Thank you, Rostov, that is…marvelous. I—good job," he stammered.

The man beamed at him. "Thank you sir."

Escape loomed in Malcolm's mind. "I'll go check them out right away." With that he left engineering, resisting the urge to run. The rest of the morning went by in a daze. He avoided everyone as best he could, male and female. Every man was a suspect. At some point Malcolm tried calculating odds for each man. He weighted them as to how well Trip knew them. Or was it more likely to be someone Trip did not know well? Malcolm tried to put himself in Trip's shoes but failed. He could not, for the life of him, comprehend making such a suggestion to anyone on the ship.

Duty rosters? He could eliminate some suspects if he knew who was on duty at the time. Or, he thought, who was logged into their accounts. As long as they were actively using their account. How long did it take before they were automatically logged off?

Finally he escaped to the armory, needing desperately to be alone, away from the rest of the crew, away from mental images of each man straddling him, stroking his head, sliding a hard cock between his lips. He had to stop thinking about it. His heightened arousal was only adding to his distress. With great effort he managed to get some work done, despite the lingering images in his mind. Deciding he could not face a crowded mess, he skipped lunch completely.

He was still focused on his work when the door swung open and Trip bounded into the room, carrying a covered plastic container.

"Malcolm, how's it going?" he asked.

Malcolm shrugged, and turned back to his simulations.

Undeterred, Trip continued, "I noticed you weren't at lunch. Figured you must be gettin' pretty hungry so I got you a sandwich and stuff." He placed the tray next to Malcolm gingerly.

Malcolm eyed the package. Well, he was hungry. "Thank you," he said in simple acknowledgement, refusing to be mollified.

"Although, ya know, Hoshi was wondering who I was getting the food for, so of course I had to tell her why you wouldn't come to lunch…"

Malcolm spun around, grabbed Trip roughly by the collar of his jumpsuit and hauled him in close. "That just isn't funny," he snarled. He was in no mood for jokes.

Trip playfully licked his nose, blue eyes dancing.

Before Malcolm could stop himself he threw his arms around the man, capturing his mouth with a passionate, desperate kiss. After a startled hesitation Trip responded in kind, matching his urgency. The force of his response pushed Malcolm back until he was up against the wall. They kissed feverishly, each seeking to dominate.

Malcolm at last broke off the kiss. He twined his fingers into Trip's short hair, turning the man's head so he could whisper into his ear. "Trip, I'm going crazy. I can't stop thinking about it. Every time I see someone I see you both fucking me. It felt so—it was—" He stopped, unable to find the right words. Any words. He could scarcely think at all, with Trip's hard body against his. His erection pressed into Trip's thigh. He suddenly wanted to be naked.

Trip rubbed his cheek against Malcolm's, breathing into his ear. "Malcolm, I'm sorry—you know I can't tell you who it was. But talk to me. Tell me how you feel. I need to know," he pleaded, his voice a hoarse whisper. Malcolm could feel his lover's erection swelling as Trip rubbed his body against his.

Now words came out before he could stop them. His voice was low, angry. "Humiliated. Embarrassed. Hot. I hated you." Trip sank his teeth into his earlobe. Malcolm gasped, the pain startling him.

"Go on," demanded Trip.

Malcolm took a breath and closed his eyes. "Used. Loved. Wicked."

Trip held him by his shoulders, grasping tightly, pinning him against the wall. He kissed Malcolm's face—his cheeks, chin, nose, lips. Suddenly Malcolm realized it was his words affecting Trip. The thought made him rock hard, ready to come. He could feel Trip's heart pounding, despite the clothes between them. Or was it his own heart?

He opened his eyes to find Trip staring intently at him. Waiting for more. Malcolm went on breathlessly, "You turned me inside out. You owned me. You made me your slut—" Trip's eyes widened.

"Then I'll be yours."

Trip yanked his zipper down and pulled the uniform off his shoulders. Before Malcolm knew what was happening his lover knelt down before him, freeing his erection, taking him into his mouth. It was electrifying. Clutching Trip's head, Malcolm thrust once, twice, and then came hard, the shuddering climax ripping the breath from his lungs.

When he opened his eyes again his lover was standing in front of him, panting. He took Malcolm's face in his hands.

"God, Malcolm, I've never wanted anyone the way I want you," he whispered, shaking his head in wonder. "You make me crazy." Trip pulled the smaller man into his arms.

Malcolm frowned, trying to understand how that could possibly be. The sudden assault by Trip's mouth and the resulting orgasm left him dazed. He stopped trying to think and just let himself be held.

"All hands report to the bridge." The ship-wide announcement made them both jump.

"Damn." They said it in unison. Trip gave him one last lingering kiss as he tried to get his uniform in order. As the left the room Trip handed him something. The sandwich.

"Now eat, and that's an order."

***

More flustered than ever, Malcolm shifted his weight restlessly as he stood. The sexual interlude had only made him more agitated. He was sure everyone in the room knew, that they could smell it. Particularly T'Pol. He had seen her disdainful expression, the raised eyebrow, when he and Trip entered the Situation Room.

And he could care less about the damn moon/planet collision. A moon had just recently slammed into some damn planet's surface, throwing up clouds of debris that seemed to thrill everyone but him.

He kept an anxious eye on the Captain, then Travis, then back to the Captain. His two most likely suspects, he decided. The Captain was full of smiles, talking animatedly about the scientific merits of their investigation of the collision. Travis was leaning forward, nodding, agreeing with the Captain. Travis. The Captain. He sighed. Probably neither. They had both greeted him today so casually, so calmly. He hadn't detected any uneasiness or evidence of subterfuge. He would be able to tell—or would he?

A movement next to him caught his eye. Trip, wiping at his uniform. He saw Malcolm looking and shot him a sheepish grin. Malcolm suddenly realized what Trip was wiping off. His face grew hot.

"-Lieutenant Reed?"

Malcolm started. He hadn't heard a word they had said. The Captain was eyeing him expectantly. They all were. Taking his chances, Malcolm firmly said, "Absolutely sir."

They all nodded and went back to the display.

***

As he was leaving, the Captain called out to him. "Malcolm—don't forget, you are joining us for dinner."

Malcolm had forgotten, of course.

Since he began his relationship with Trip, the Captain had been inviting him to dinner regularly. If T'Pol thought it odd she never let on. He had come to enjoy the occasions, the bantering between Trip and the Captain, the Captain's gentle teasing of T'Pol. It surprised him to find the Vulcan actually had a sense of humor, and he appreciated her dry wit.

This evening's dinner was no different. The food, as usual, was delicious. Steak. Mashed potatoes. Asparagus. The conversation was relaxed, centering on the damaged planet.

It came time for dessert. The steward brought in a covered dish, and the Captain proudly lifted the lid. "Strawberry-Rhubarb pie," he announced with delight. The steward served Trip, the Captain and Malcolm. Malcolm had never heard of such a thing, and watched the Captain curiously while sipping his water.

The captain took a bite of the pie. "Hmmm." he said, making a small grunt of contentment.

Malcolm froze. That sound. It was familiar. Too familar.

"It was you?" he blurted out, to his utter horror. Then the water glass slipped from his hand. He managed to rescue it, but not before bobbling it badly enough so that half the water sloshed out. For a moment the three of them stared at him, puzzled by his outburst, Trip included. Then the captain started wiping up the water, T'Pol contributing napkins. Malcolm was mortified. He wished he could transport himself to his quarters, and hide under his bed for the next few centuries.

"Malcolm, are you OK?" asked Trip innocently. Malcolm wanted to throw the rest of the water at him.

T'Pol looked at him questioningly, "Lieutenant, is there something wrong with your glass?"

"I'm fine, fine, I guess I had too much coffee…" Malcolm trailed off.

T'Pol and Trip looked at each other. Trip shrugged. They went back to eating. "What was that you were asking me?" inquired the captain, leaning towards him, his face displaying nothing but gentle concern.

At that moment the door opened and the steward entered the room. Malcolm was so happy for the distraction he could have kissed the man. Or had he already, he thought, eyeing the man suspiciously. Christ, he was really losing it. The steward assisted in mopping up the last of the water, and politely gathered their dinner plates. Malcolm realized the captain was still waiting for an answer.

"Uh, I was just wondering if the pie was your idea—the strawberries.." he was babbling now. But the captain happily clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes, my aunt used to make it, and I was so glad Chef pulled it off! Try it," he commanded. The pie slice loomed in front of him. As if his stomach could hold it down. He forced himself to take a piece. Lift his fork. Put it in his mouth. Chew.

It was surprisingly good. As he slowly ate, he looked around the table. T'Pol and Trip had gotten caught up in a conversation about warp coils, of all things. Watching Trip talk, animated, he could see no sign at all of a grin. Who would have thought the bastard could be so poker-faced? Very impressive. To his right, the captain was still concentrating on his pie.

Malcolm began to relax. How foolish. Of course it wasn't the captain. His mind was getting carried away. Time to get a grip. He had nearly made it through the day, and the universe hadn't come to an end. Perhaps it wasn't so important that he know, after all. He finished the pie, feeling more sanguine with each bite.

Dinner completed, they all got up to leave together. Exhausted by his long day, Malcolm just wanted to get back to his quarters. The Captain stood aside as they exited the small room. As Malcolm slipped past, the man touched his shoulder lightly. Malcolm paused and turned towards him.

"So how'd you like it?" Captain Archer asked quietly.

The pie, of course. Malcolm nodded. "It was quite delicious."

"Good. I just wanted to be sure, although you certainly seemed to be enjoying it." Jonathan smiled at him. A sly, knowing smile, as his hand slid down and gently squeezed Malcolm's ass.

Epilogue.

Malcolm paused in front of the door, feeling remarkably calm and confident. Then again, he was the tactical officer, just doing what he did best. He rang the chime.

The door opened and he entered the Ready Room, coming to a halt at ease in front of his captain. Archer leaned back comfortably in his chair, relaxed, hands clasped behind his head.

"Lieutenant Reed, what can I do for you?"

Malcolm took a deep breath. "That depends, Sir. If I understand correctly, you were indeed involved in a twisted little trick played on me by Commander Tucker, yes?"

The Captain's lips twitched. Then he nodded. "You're right. It was me."

Malcolm allowed himself a small half-smile. "If I may be so bold as to ask—in light of your extensive knowledge of my target, will you consider assisting me with a little revenge? I suspect that if we work together we will come up something perfectly delightful."

The Captain smiled.

Malcolm smiled broadly in return.

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