Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

"Don't," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed hissed as he grabbed a flailing arm. "I'm not in the mood." He shoved Major Jeremiah Hayes forward, bending him to the ground by levering his arm up behind his back and pushing. When Hayes started to laugh, he pushed the arm up higher as a warning. "What? Do I amuse you?"

Hayes's bare shoulders still shook with mirth. Faint beads of sweat spangled his nude body. "You probably shouldn't dislocate my shoulder," he gasped, not looking back at Reed. "Sorry. Not in the mood." His words mocked Reed's. "What are you in the mood for?"

That was obvious, Reed thought with a grim smile. He slid his fingers along the channel dividing Hayes's buttocks, then found the tight ring of Hayes's opening. "This," he said, circling it with a finger.

He prodded Hayes's leg with his knee, knocking the larger man off balance, and as Hayes lurched sideways, he released the arm he'd pinioned, centered himself, and pressed himself in. His eyes half closed as Hayes's heat surrounded him in a sudden flush of pressure, and he gasped involuntarily even as Hayes bucked, as if complaining at the intrusion. He settled the matter by grabbing Hayes's hips and jerking him back as he thrust, earning a small grunt from Hayes even as Hayes tried to walk forward on his hands, as if seeking escape.

He had to make Hayes want to stay. He had to lean forward to grab the taller man's hair, but he managed it. When he pulled, Hayes's back arched in a beautiful ripple of muscle that made Reed's cock leap. Hayes flung his head back, and Reed felt Hayes tighten around him. With one hand pulling Hayes's hair none too gently, and the other on Hayes's hip, jerking him back, he began to thrust. He wouldn't be able to keep up the wild, deep shoves for long, not when Hayes, after another attempt to shuffle forward but convinced by a heavy pull, instead began to meet Reed's thrusts with his own push back, trying to drive Reed deeper into him. Reed also knew that Hayes liked to be bitten, hard enough to leave a red mark, but not hard enough to break the skin. Reed suspected that had more to do with explanations to Doctor Phlox, and less to do with what Hayes would enjoy. For the two of them, fighting was foreplay, and the more physical, the better. The dance they did when others watched was constrained compared with what they did in private.

Under his hand, Hayes twisted his head, but Reed kept his grip with another sharp tug, and Hayes tilted his head back, showing his throat as his back rippled. He'd done it—made Hayes want to stay. When Hayes began to grunt with each stroke, Reed knew he couldn't last, because each sound went through him. He sped up, balls slapping against Hayes's buttocks, fingers mercilessly tightening in Hayes's hair. He didn't draw it out or let himself tremble endlessly on the edge. He ruthlessly drove himself to orgasm, his cock feeling hotter and bigger with each of Hayes's moans, until he let go of Hayes's hair and reached around to grab Hayes's long, hard length in his hand.

He shoved himself in to the hilt as he exploded. He barely had the presence of mind to handle Hayes's cock roughly as he spurted into Hayes's heat. He pulled at Hayes's length, barely aware of its searing heat, not caring that he'd broken rhythm, and then Hayes froze, cock jetting warmth over Reed's knuckles. Hayes made a long, low sound as he came, then relaxed and began to gasp. Reed gentled his grip, stroking Hayes's cock as the frantic hardness softened. When Hayes stopped moving, he just held it, feeling it change from desperate, hard length to soft warmth.

"Pull out," Hayes said a minute later, and Reed did.

Hayes tilted over to land on his side, bed moving under them. He wiped at the liquid on his belly, spreading the slickness. Reed watched, panting, still on his knees, the glow of orgasm still warming his body. Complementing it was the soreness in his forearms from where he'd blocked strikes during today's sparring, but it felt almost pleasant, the aftereffects of his orgasm smoothing out sensation, making him glow. Hayes turned his face up, and Reed reached over and grabbed Hayes's chin, turning his face from side to side to look at it dispassionately in the insufficient light. Hayes didn't struggle.

"That lip still looks painful," he said judiciously, not releasing Hayes's chin.

Reed hadn't been the one who'd inflicted the blow. Actually, to his amusement, it had been Hoshi Sato, who had surprised Hayes by following through when she usually didn't. Sato had been half horrified and half pleased when Hayes had gone down.

Hayes touched the swollen lip. The cut had started to scab over, but it still looked raw. "It's nothing."

Reed frowned in disapproval. "It looks like something."

"It's not."

"Please see Doctor Phlox and have him use a dermal regenerator, Major," Reed said, then realized that he'd just made an order. The tone of his voice had implied it, as had his use of the word "major." "Sorry," he added.

Hayes clasped Reed's wrist, surprisingly gently. "You can call me Jeremiah," he suggested

Hayes surely must realize that he wouldn't do that, just like Hayes didn't call him "Malcolm."

"Mmm," Reed said noncommittally, gently running his thumb over Hayes's lips. "If you would prefer not to see Doctor Phlox, then perhaps you could find your way into one of the shuttlepods and use the dermal regenerator in the first aid kit."

Hayes looked at him appraisingly, then sucked Reed's thumb into his mouth. He released it after stroking it with his tongue, and Reed used his slick finger to trace the lips again before he leaned down to gently kiss where there had been no gentleness before.

"That's a very good idea," Hayes murmured, adding sardonically a moment later, "Sir."

"Yes. I thought of it. Major." Reed leaned in when Hayes put a hand behind his neck to draw him down.

"Sneaky."

"You are full of compliments today. Perhaps you ought to see Doctor Phlox after all." Reed settled in next to Hayes. "I ought to leave," he murmured, but he let Hayes pull him in.

"Of course you ought to," Hayes whispered, but his tongue along the edge of Reed's ear told exactly what he thought of that idea.

Reed sighed when Hayes came up for air. "I really ought. I have that mission with Commander Tucker tomorrow. We leave at 0600 hours."

"That's really early."

Reed rolled off the narrow bed, and Hayes filled the space, hands behind his head, as he watched Reed pick up the scattered clothing from the floor and pile it on the bed before sorting through it to put on his.

"I suppose," Reed said absently. He tried not to be too obvious as he watched Hayes lift the sheet and dab his stomach, wiping it clean, then let the sheet drop, the puddle of fabric concealing his groin. Reed had always appreciated the strength of Hayes's body. He'd been on the receiving end of that strength often enough. But now, he appreciated its beauty, set off by the concealing sheet. Hayes wasn't particularly handsome, but Reed liked his stern solidity, his smooth, perfect skin, muscles sliding underneath, all latent power. That body was, after all, why he came three times a week to Hayes's quarters, late at night. He limited himself to three times a week, rationing the pleasure they shared together. He'd rather Hayes didn't know that on the four nights Reed wasn't there, he wished he were. He wasn't sure how Hayes felt about him, and all the extra time they'd been spending together lately had not made him better able to read Hayes's poker face. They were as stiff, awkward, and hostile with each other at work as ever. Reed doubted anyone suspected a thing.

He'd just zipped up his uniform and was about to reach for his boots when his gaze fell on something he hadn't seen before. "Is that a prototype 420 phase pistol?" he asked in amazement, boots forgotten as he skirted the bed to examine the weapon more closely. Hayes had propped it up against some the spines of some books on a little bookshelf. "How long have you had this?" he demanded. His hand hovered near the pistol, but he didn't dare touch it.

Hayes sat up in surprise at Reed's sharp tone. "A couple years," he answered. "I ran across it yesterday when I was looking for something else. It's my most recent acquisition."

"May I?"

Reed didn't notice that Hayes suppressed a smile as he said, "Of course, Lieutenant."

Reed gingerly picked up the item. "The prototypes had the shorter nose," he observed, running a finger along the muzzle. His eyes flicked suspiciously to Hayes. "I thought there were only seventeen in existence." It sounded like an accusation.

Hayes didn't appear to notice. He gestured at the weapon. "And that's one of them."

"This is...a work of art." Reed sat down on the bed, turning the weapon over and over. "No power cell?" he asked as he sighted down the barrel.

"No longer a standard size."

"Mmm." Reed released the handle and checked out the inner workings. "Commander Tucker may be able to help you with that. Perhaps he can jury-rig something for you."

He felt rather than saw Hayes shrug. Hayes's shoulder momentarily pressed against his back as he peered over Reed's shoulder. Hayes's voice rumbled, "I don't mind. I don't need it to work."

Reed glanced at him. "I would love to put this through its paces," he said fervently, "against a standard-issue phase pistol. History. We could assess the firing range and correlate it to muzzle length."

"Well, if you like that—" Hayes scooted off the bunk, then padded, still nude, to his small closet. He opened it, rummaged around, and pulled out a narrow metal box, which he plopped down on the bed. From the bump Reed felt as it landed, it was clearly quite heavy. "Take a look."

Hayes turned back to the closet, this time to grab a pair of loose pants. He pulled them on. A T-shirt was next. Reed barely spared him a glance as he lifted the lid of the metal box, although watching Hayes dress with his controlled, powerful grace had become a favorite pastime within the last few weeks. He might detest the man, but there was such a thing as aesthetic appreciation, he'd rationalized lately.

"Oh, my," Reed said appreciatively as he saw the weapons within, their forms clear although they were wrapped in a protective layer of thin, spongy red plastic.

"None of them have power cells," Hayes assured him as Reed began to lift them out.

"I have always loved this one," Reed noted as he eased a mid-model staser out of its protective wrapping. His thumb danced over the firing studs, although the lights didn't leap into life as he brushed them. He found his thumb well remembered stun versus kill. He noted that the weapon was in mint condition, clearly never used. It was interesting that Hayes hadn't sealed it. The MACO might be a collector, but he was a collector who wanted to touch and handle the weapons. He folded the plastic back over the staser and set it on the bed, only to lift out a stunner, which he'd recognized by its distinctive shape despite the red shrouding. "And this one. I've never handled one of these before," he murmured as he turned it over.

He glanced up when Hayes sat on the bed next to him. "This is quite a collection," he said. "Hand weapons only?"

"Rifles were too big to bring on board." Hayes dug into the box. "I like this one." He unwrapped a metal handgun. "Circa 2010," Hayes noted as Reed took it from him. "Bullets."

"Projectiles are underrated," Reed noted. "Why 2010?"

He spent the next half-hour with Hayes, sorting through antique and collectible weapons, Reed asking questions and Hayes patiently answering, before Reed finally remembered he was supposed to be leaving. "I really must go," he said regretfully as he stood up, half-wrapped weapons littering the bed. He picked up the prototype. "If you decide to install a charge on this—" He let his words drift off meaningfully as he gave the phase pistol one last stroke and then returned it to its place of honor on the bookshelf.

"I'll be sure to let you know when I hit the firing range, Lieutenant," Hayes promised. "Will you—"

Reed, pulling on a boot, looked over his shoulder at the other man when he didn't continue.. "Major?" he prompted.

"Sorry, just wanted to know if you'd be by tomorrow night."

Reed's forehead creased slightly. Why did Hayes seem so diffident? "I don't know." He stamped his foot to seat the boot, then leaned over to fasten it. "We're leaving at 0600 hours so that we can get back by 1800 hours. I doubt it. I suppose it depends on the mission." He reached for his other boot. "Why? Did you want me to come by? Or do you have plans and you prefer I not come by?"

"No, it's fine," Hayes hastily assured him.

It struck Reed for the first time that Hayes had only said no perhaps three times since Reed had started calling on him. He was prioritizing their time together. It made sense that Reed was cutting into—well, whatever passed for Hayes's social life. Certainly Hayes ought to be able to plan his time. Still, Reed felt pricked. He enjoyed Hayes having to wait for his call. It granted him an edge of power, and Reed guarded it jealously. Although Hayes freely showed his disdain and continued to question Reed's lightest decision or order, he guarded his feelings for Reed, and although Reed seriously doubted that Hayes had fallen in love with him, he hadn't given much thought to what Hayes thought of their...well, "relationship" was too strong a word, but it would have to do.

"Well, if I can, I'll ping your console first," Reed said reasonably as he fastened his second boot. He perversely decided not to suggest that they prearrange their trysts weekly. Keeping it random would keep Hayes on his toes. "Good night, Major."

"Good night, Lieutenant."

As always, Reed strode out as though he hadn't a care in the world, as if visiting Major Hayes's quarters in the dark of night was completely normal. Hayes never came to his cabin; Reed always went to Hayes's cabin, always late and never without warning, to minimize the risk of running into one of Hayes's MACO subordinates. Unsurprisingly, and as usual, no one was around. It was the middle of the night, and the next shift change would occur in a few hours—another reason he'd chosen to leave now. As he headed for the lift, he thought ruefully that there was something to be said for having a reputation of not getting on with someone: if they saw him leaving, especially if he frowned and walked purposefully, they would assume that Reed had visited Hayes to dress him down in private. It was true, of course: they didn't get on. But apparently, that wasn't true where sex was concerned.

He set the lift for his deck, mind already on tomorrow, when he would spend the entire day with Trip Tucker. He had to admit that he was very much looking forward to that. They were going to have a wonderful time, out in the shuttlepod, testing a prototype navigation unit that ought to help Enterprise better traverse the Expanse. And best of all, Reed thought with satisfaction, they would be completely alone for an entire day, with no Hayes looming about.

He couldn't wait.

***

"How's the commander?" Reed asked Doctor Phlox as the sickbay doors whooshed shut behind him.

"Doing very well, very well indeed, Lieutenant," Phlox said, looking around from his work. He indicated a still figure draped with a silvery warming sheet on a biobed. "I don't suppose you spent the day in your quarters, as I suggested." To Reed's ears, the remark sounded like he had no illusions about what Reed had done that day.

"No, I felt much better when I woke up this morning, so I went in for a half shift. I just got off, actually." He had slept through his alarm, but then had decided not to rush. After all, he and Tucker had arrived back quite late the night before, after their shuttlepod adventure, and Phlox had already contacted Captain Archer and told him that Tucker and Reed would be off duty for the next few days. Reed extended his arms. "Would you like to examine the bruises?" he asked, voice intentionally light. He felt distinctly battered, but he did his best to hold his body naturally, as though it wasn't complaining in pain.

To his relief, Phlox answered, "What a kind offer! That won't be necessary." The doctor gestured at Tucker. "I lightly sedated him several hours ago, but do feel free to go say hello. He may be ready to wake up. The swelling has decreased considerably, I'm pleased to say."

Phlox returned to his analysis of some sort of biodata on one of the monitors. Reed crossed the few steps to Tucker's biobed and stood, hands clasped behind him as he gazed on the quiet man's face. He well remembered the panic of the day before, but now that he knew Tucker was going to be fine, he could enjoy standing here, looking down at the commander, whose face was blank and calm in sleep. He resisted the urge to brush Tucker's cheek with his fingers, but he imagined doing it. They'd drifted apart ever since Tucker's anger at his sister's death had consumed him, but the intense experience they'd shared together in yet another shuttlepod incident had drawn them back together, Reed hoped.

He remembered their first experience on board Shuttlepod One, when the two of them had nearly frozen to death. He'd babbled about women because it was during that trip that he'd realized how he felt about Tucker, and it seemed like a better idea than declaring...well, something of his true feelings to Tucker, even if they were both going to die. The sharp desire had caused him almost physical pangs for a year. Then it had dulled, grown soft around the edges, only to surge again when Tucker withdrew. He knew that Tucker and T'Pol needed to work something out, and in theory he wished them well. He'd lightly played with Tucker, to test him, but his half-mock, half-real advances had been cheerfully ignored. From what Tucker had let drop, he dated women exclusively. Reed had tried to cast aside his feelings and the hope that went with it, but he'd found it impossible.

Reed's eyes traced the brow and lips. He frowned slightly when, unbidden, the image rose up of Hayes with the split lip that Sato had dealt him. He'd kissed that lip, feeling its tender heat and the puffiness of the flesh. He'd tasted the slight saltiness, the remnants of blood. He didn't know what he felt for Hayes, but it wasn't this—this feeling of hopelessness coupled with physical longing, the need to sink into those eyes—

"Hey, Malcolm," Tucker said, blinking his eyes open. He smiled. "I guess I fell asleep."

Reed smiled back, suddenly hyperaware of Tucker's gaze on him. He took refuge in trite words. "How are you feeling?" He wanted to take Tucker's hand, and after wrestling briefly with himself, he did, turning it over as if examining it for cuts and bruises.

Tucker tried out a brief smile. He didn't pull his hand away, but he didn't caress or linger either. "Like I've been worked over by a couple MACOs," he said ruefully. "And oh dear lord, my head!"

Reed was just about to reply when he heard Phlox call, "Just a moment, Major, I can be right with you. Commander Tucker's just woken up."

Reed turned to look behind him. He hadn't heard the sound of the door opening; he'd been too focused on Tucker. Now he saw Hayes come far enough into the room to trigger the door mechanism, because it slid shut behind him. Hayes, face totally unreadable, was gazing at Reed.

"Hello, Major," Reed said, setting Tucker's hand down on his stomach. He felt unaccountably guilty, as though Hayes had caught him doing something unethical.

"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant—" Phlox hinted as he bustled over, and Reed took a few steps back, then turned and joined Hayes nearby when he saw that Phlox planned to do more than just talk to Tucker.

"You're not ill, I trust?" Reed asked Hayes as Phlox pulled up a tray and began to fuss, although he kept an ear out for Tucker's soft responses to Phlox's inquiries.

Hayes took a few seconds to answer. "I need to refill the first aid kit for the sparring area." He patted a portable kit slung over his shoulder. Reed hadn't noticed it.

"Your lip looks much better," Reed said after a moment, because it did.

"Doctor Phlox used the dermal regenerator."

Hayes had answered civilly enough, but his eyes told Reed that he wanted nothing more than a fight. That was nothing new, but Reed hadn't understood Hayes's reluctance about seeing Phlox the other night. After all, practically everybody at the training exercise had seen Sato strike Hayes and send him reeling back. Reed was fairly sure he remembered Travis Mayweather cheering her on. If Hayes had gotten the fat lip from Reed during a private match, well, that might be a different story, but he hardly thought Phlox would blink at a "training exercise" excuse. After all, Phlox never pressed Reed about it when he came in, even when it was patently false.

"Good," Reed said, a little belatedly, he realized. "I just came by to see how Commander Tucker was faring," he added.

"Yes, I saw." Hayes somehow imbued the noncommittal comment with layer upon layer of subtext, making Reed frown. With a jerk of his chin toward the occupied biobed, Hayes inquired, "How is he?"

It was like they were having two conversations simultaneously, Reed thought. There was the polite one that used words, and there was the angry one underneath. "Much better for a day's rest," he responded. He took a step into Hayes's personal space, but Hayes didn't back up. "We both took quite a beating when the prototype navigation unit blew. We lost gravity inside the shuttle, but the blast took out some of the fittings. It was really...quite a mess."

That was an understatement. He repressed a shudder as he remembered the smoke, then the fire alarm sounding, followed by puffs of chemical fire retardant to put out the flames. His stomach had shifted horribly in the lack of gravity. Then the lights had gone out, which had made it impossible to dodge the flying equipment, even if he had been able to figure out which way was up so he could get his bearings and cling to a handhold along a bulkhead.

"I can only imagine," Hayes ground out. "You seem recovered." His eyes insolently raked up and down Reed's body in a most un-MACO-like, insulting manner, ending on Reed's face. He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.

The implication was obvious. Reed narrowed his eyes. Had Hayes actually expected Reed to drop by after that hideous experience? They'd arrived hours later than scheduled, in the wee hours of the morning, and he'd promptly escorted the injured chief engineer to sickbay. Tucker had sustained a concussion and, coupled with the fact that he had vomited in the shuttlepod afterward and had stayed awake only because Reed hadn't let him sleep, Phlox had insisted Tucker remain in sickbay for observation. Reed had been concerned because Tucker hadn't complained, which spoke volumes about how ill the man felt.

Reed held Hayes's eyes with his own before he broke into a long, slow, evil smile, because he got it now. Hayes had seen him and Tucker holding hands, and he was actually jealous of Tucker. Hayes, much to Reed's chagrin, had known for some time how he felt about the commander, but Hayes's intemperate response now somehow returned the upper hand to Reed.

"I am much improved," he told the MACO, "but I'm likely not improved enough to spar, at least for a few days. My bruises have bruises."

Hayes glared at him, then jerked his head in a nod. He got it. Reed wasn't going to come by his cabin tonight.

Phlox bustled over to them. "My apologies for the delay, Major Hayes. How can I help?"

Reed stepped back, breaking the tension, as the doctor stood smiling at them.

"No fighting in sickbay," Tucker called weakly. "But I guess you're feeling better, Malcolm, if you're ready to pop Major Hayes one."

"I'll get in line behind Hoshi," Reed answered lightly. Tucker, at least, had been able to sense what was going on, but he saw it as simple aggression, with nothing else overlaid, Reed thought thankfully.

Hayes ignored Tucker's remark and Reed's response. "I need to refill this first aid kit, Doctor." He lifted the shoulder strap to indicate the medkit. "Or do you have a full one I can take?"

Phlox's head bobbed. "Ah, yes. Good idea. You can exchange it for one in that cabinet. No, the one above. Yes. Thank you. Just leave that one on the counter, so one of my assistants can refill it."

Reed tuned out Phlox as he again took his place by Tucker's bedside, acutely aware of Hayes as he and Phlox messed with the first aid kits.

"You guys really need to work on getting along," Tucker remarked to Reed. "It's scary to watch you two spar. You don't hold back."

Reed smiled. Tucker didn't know the half of it. He deliberately changed the subject. "Is Doctor Phlox ready to let you go? I must admit I don't care for the way you look. Another night here may be just the thing. I can fetch you something from your quarters if your stay is going to be extended, if you like." He didn't dare take Tucker's hand again, and although he leaned against the side of the biobed, he took care not to touch the other man. He imagined Hayes's eyes tracking him like a gun sight.

As Tucker started to answer, Reed heard Hayes mildly thank Doctor Phlox, and the door whispered open and closed, telling him that Hayes had gone. He didn't turn around to watch Hayes's broad back disappear, so he was surprised when he heard T'Pol's voice. She must have come in at the same time Hayes had left.

"Commander," she said in her usual soft, imperious tone. "Lieutenant. Doctor."

The order in which T'Pol had uttered the names indicated her intent: she'd come to see Tucker. Of course the tone of her voice betrayed nothing. She spoke all the titles with the same dispassionate calm she always spoke with. Reed's heart sank, because he knew from sad experience that, as far as Tucker was concerned, when T'Pol was in the room, Reed ceased to exist.

"Get well soon, and let me know if you need anything," he told Tucker, but Tucker had already transferred all his attention to T'Pol. Tucker's "Thanks for coming by, Malcolm," sounded not sincere but polite.

Reed escaped into the corridor, took a few steps, and stopped. Hayes leaned against a wall with his back and one foot against it, arms crossed, the picture of alert relaxation.

"Oh, it's you," Reed said with disfavor, then resumed walking. "What do you want? I assume you're waiting for me?"

"When I saw T'Pol go in, I figured you'd be out soon enough." Hayes pushed off to follow Reed, dodging a crew member. This close to dinner, the corridors were full of crew members making their way to the mess hall or heading for the gym.

"Did you want something?" Reed asked wearily.

"I think I know what you want."

Reed stole a glance at him. "That's sweet, quite...sweet," he noted, drawing out the full ironic potential of the word. "But I'm afraid physically, I am not up to a sparring match. And mentally, I'm not up to your double-edged remarks." He almost added, "and your jealousy," but the corridor wasn't empty.

"We don't have to spar," Hayes said sharply, and at Reed's surprised look, he moderated his tone and switched the topic, incidentally belying his previous remark. "Did you enjoy your time in the shuttlepod with the commander, Lieutenant?"

"We were working, and then all hell broke loose, so 'enjoy' is hardly the word I'd use." Reed stopped by the lift, joining two waiting crew members who took one look at Reed's set jaw and Hayes's smoldering eyes and edged back. "The unit we were testing will obviously require...rethinking."

"It seems that you two bond in adversity," Hayes commented, crossing his arms.

"Perhaps it seems that way to you," Reed murmured, staring at the closed lift door rather than at Hayes.

Reed and Tucker had bonded during the Shuttlepod One incident, but in this incident, Tucker's concussion had been too severe. They hadn't had any revealing talks. Mostly they'd screamed and ducked. They'd been whacked around by floating debris in the shuttlepod until they missed a scheduled check-in with the ship. Even then, it had taken Travis Mayweather a while to realize that they were adrift—rather longer than Reed would have hoped, considering how they seemed to have spun, and none too gently, for at least three hours. Reed's backup at tactical had deployed the grappler and gotten them on board, but they'd spent hours in the damaged shuttlepod without an opportunity to talk of anything other than their immediate situation. Tucker had been injured and hadn't been able to help, much less inclined to talk, and he'd been too busy trying to keep them both alive.

"I'd think—" Hayes began, but Reed cut him off just as the lift door opened.

"Major, I'd love to hear what you think." His voice dripped sarcasm, and one of the two crew members waiting to board blanched as she sidled behind Reed to enter the lift. "But I'm afraid I'll have to postpone the pleasure. Hold the lift, please." He entered, then turned. "Take the next one, Major," he said, and he jabbed the "door close" button. The door whooshed shut on cue, right in Hayes's face. "B deck," he snapped.

***

The minute he entered his quarters, he downed a mild painkiller and prayed it would take effect soon. He had tried not to show it during the last two hours of his shift, and he'd been particularly careful while in sickbay, to avoid Phlox fussing over him, but his muscles had tightened. He briefly contemplated dinner, then decided he wasn't hungry: he had stopped in the mess hall for a late snack during his shift because sleeping in had gotten him off his meal schedule. What he should do was find the heating pads he had somewhere, tuck one under his back and set one on his stomach, and lie in bed and read personnel reports until he drifted off. It sounded like heaven.

"Lovely. A night in." The sad part was that it wasn't ironic, no matter how sarcastically he voiced it aloud.

Reed sighed as he reached for pajama bottoms. He had to struggle out of his boots, then winced when he peeled off his uniform and again when he pulled on the bottoms. He stood in front of the mirror, T-shirt in hand, and surveyed himself critically. He looked too thin, he decided, particularly compared with, for example, Hayes's muscular bulk, which had had struck Reed as particularly imposing when he'd crossed his arms outside the lift while they waited. He had to admit it: he very much admired Hayes's body, and best of all, Hayes was accessible in a way Tucker could never be. Would Hayes be so accommodating if Reed suggested they move to four or five times a week? Every free night for the past two weeks, he'd wished he was with Hayes. It was one reason he rationed their time together so sharply. He didn't want to need Hayes, not with the pathetic, hopeless desperation he felt for Tucker. At the very least, if he had begun the slow slide into affection, he would rather Hayes not know it—another bit of knowledge that somehow gave Reed power.

He pushed thoughts of Hayes out of his head and took another look at himself in the mirror. What was the kind word for Reed's own physique? Wiry? He touched a bruise on his chest, then another. Phlox had used the dermal regenerator on them, but they still stood out starkly, green and yellow instead of purple, which he supposed looked better. He'd also sustained a number of cuts and grazes. The healing had been accelerated, but thin pink lines still decorated his skin. His face had mostly been spared, in part because he'd kept his arms in front of his face to guard himself, but he had one graze along his right temple that lent him, he thought, an almost piratical air.

He swung around, surprised, when the door chimed. "Come," he called, and for a brief, insane moment, he hoped it would be Trip Tucker. Instead, to his surprise, it was Hayes—Hayes, who never showed up at his quarters, and whom he had specifically told to leave him alone.

"Sir?" Hayes asked through the open door.

"Yes, Major, do come in." Reed hastily pulled his shirt over his head as Hayes entered, the door whisking shut behind him. "Can I do something for you?" he asked. He tugged the shirt down, suddenly self-conscious.

Hayes had taken in Reed's half-dressed state noncommittally, like a disinterested colleague, before Reed had hidden himself under the T-shirt. "Those bruises look pretty bad," was Hayes's only comment.

"They feel pretty bad," Reed agreed ruefully. "I just took a painkiller." At Hayes's raised eyebrows, he added, "Quite a mild one. It's for the stiffness more than the pain."

"I brought the revised roster you requested," Hayes said. He waved the padd he held and set it on Reed's small desk.

"Sending it to my console would have been sufficient, Major," Reed noted. It was clearly just a pretext, an excuse Hayes could provide to anyone who saw him outside his cabin door. "I assume we are now discussing the roster's implications?"

"We are," Hayes confirmed.

"Are there any implications?"

"Not really."

"Then if we're done, you may go, Major." Reed turned and grabbed his uniform, which still lay across the bed, shook it out, and began to fold it. A moment later, when Hayes had yet to move, he observed, "You're not leaving."

"No, sir."

He didn't look at Hayes as he moved over and opened his closet door. "I am very tired, Major. I am not up to sparring, or arguing, or playing, or..." He paused, letting the word "fucking" die on his lips. "...or anything else we do together," he finished. He tucked the uniform into place. "Do go, please, Major," he said when he turned back, because Hayes wasn't responding to unsubtle hints.

"I'd rather not." Hayes took a step closer and shut the closet door before giving Reed his full attention. "You do realize that what we do—whatever it is—is important to me."

"I hadn't given it any thought," Reed said truthfully. He'd realized it was important to him, perhaps too much so, but he hadn't considered Hayes—Hayes, with his unrevealing eyes. Those eyes were one reason he wouldn't surrender to Hayes, in any way, from hand-to-hand combat to what they did in bed. He couldn't read them. He couldn't tell if he affected Hayes the way he grudgingly admitted Hayes affected him. And he did not want to grant Hayes any more power than he already had.

"I know."

"Although I suppose I might have guessed, from your performance in sickbay." Hayes looked like he was struggling for words. Reed watched with interest, but when Hayes didn't speak after a few moments, Reed added, voice faintly mocking, "Would you like me to tell you that it's important to me too?" Because it was, but he could not say it aloud, definitely not to Hayes.

"No," Hayes said definitely. "Because you'll say it's not. You like to say one thing, but do another."

"Ah. Well. You do the same thing, so it seems we are doomed to suffer an utter lack of coherent communication. It explains a lot, really—"

"Malcolm," Hayes said, stepping even closer, and his use of Reed's first name was so surprising that Reed actually shut up. Hayes's fingers touched the graze on his temple, the gentleness at odds with Hayes's latent strength, which Reed knew all too well. "I would rather listen to what you do than what you say. Like this." Hayes touched Reed's jaw, his touch soft, and then cupped Reed's head in both hands. He leaned in so their noses almost grazed, and they looked at each other, not speaking, until Hayes touched Reed's lips with his own in a feather-soft kiss. Hayes whispered, "It doesn't have to be rough, or fast, or hard."

Hayes kissed again, and Reed turned his head so they fit together better. Hayes's hands lowered to his neck, and those large hands, the ones that usually struck, squeezed, grabbed, or pulled instead caressed gently. His thumbs stroked soothingly, and Reed felt himself relax. Hayes deepened the kisses, tongue soft and gentle instead of hard and demanding, and Reed took a step forward, arms winding around Hayes, so they pressed together, chest against chest. Time ticked by as they kissed, exploring each other's mouths. It must be the painkiller, Reed thought muzzily as Hayes's fingers wound briefly into his hair, then stroked down to rub across his back. It softened everything, smoothed out the rough edges, let him lean into Hayes with total trust.

"I probably can't—" he started when Hayes began inching toward the bed.

"It's all right. Let me," Hayes murmured, and Reed subsided.

Hayes took off his clothes for him, starting with the T-shirt. The air felt cold until Hayes's hands returned to warm him. He had trouble stepping out of his pajama bottoms, but Hayes helped by sliding them down, cheek briefly pressing against his thigh. He lay back on the bed, nude, and watched as Hayes took off his own uniform. Hayes's dark, heavy erection indicated his excitement, but he was in complete control as he climbed atop Reed.

Hayes began where they had left off, with luscious, deep kisses. All Reed had to do was lie back and respond. It was heavenly. Hayes supported his weight on his arms, but he still felt heavy. One of his legs slid between Reed's legs, and he had to pause to adjust himself so his penis lay pressed between their lower stomachs. Reed ran his hands along Hayes's strong shoulders, down and then back up his arms, then along his chest, feeling the ripple of muscle as Hayes moved. He had always loved the feel of Hayes's body, strong and densely heavy, as if Hayes could crush him. This time, though, he gave in to the powerlessness that Hayes asked of him, accepting everything Hayes gave, from kissing to touching, without attempting to get the upper hand, without escalating it and prodding Hayes into making a counterresponse. It was time to surrender.

When Hayes began to move his way down, mouth trailing along Reed's skin to leave washes of warmth behind, he didn't seem to mind that Reed did little more than touch, stroking his shoulders as Hayes's lips toyed with nipple. Hayes stopped to lick a bruise, kiss a cut, moving from wound to wound as if marking them. Then Hayes moved lower yet, with a painstaking slowness that Reed had to accept, for all of his anticipation of what he understood Hayes was going to do next. They didn't need to rush. The gentleness let sensation escalate slowly, stretching out every touch, breath, and sigh.

He briefly closed his eyes when Hayes's mouth finally, finally closed around his erection, first teasing the tip, then moving lower. Hayes took the base of Reed's cock into his hand and began to suck slowly, lifting his mouth clear every time, only to descend again, harder, over and over again, until the pleasure coiling in his balls made Reed thrust up. Hayes twisted his hand around the base of Reed's cock and began to pull slowly and rhythmically even as his warm mouth enveloped him. Reed gave a cry of warning as he trembled on the edge, drawn out by Hayes's refusal to rush. Then he came hard, jetting endlessly into Hayes's welcoming mouth, back arching, as Hayes's warm, generous mouth extended his pleasure. It had never been like this with Hayes before, slow and relentlessly soft, with strokes instead of slaps, his orgasm long and sweet and throbbing instead of fierce and sharp.

He subsided long moments later, panting and completely drained, and Hayes immediately gentled the pressure. A few slow pulls later, Hayes released him and climbed forward, formidable erection in his hand. Still breathing hard, Reed watched, which Hayes clearly wanted him to do, as Hayes handled himself. He dipped his cock down to brush first against Reed's stomach, then against his chest as Hayes continued up. He rubbed the glans around the tender bud of Reed's nipple, leaving behind a slick of liquid. Reed watched as Hayes masturbated, hand pumping his cock, then fingers working just under the tip, pausing again and again to rub circles around Reed's nipples, the erect flesh hot against Reed's skin. Excitement made Hayes's breathing irregular and rough. Hayes had hitched forward enough as he sat astride Reed that Reed could rub Hayes's heavy thighs, stroking toward his buttocks when Hayes moved forward just so.

"Shut your eyes," Hayes gasped, and Reed did, just in time, because a hot gout of semen splattered his face, followed by another, then another. Hayes's harsh breathing mirrored the clench of his buttocks, which Reed was now able to grasp and knead. A few more warm splashes, and Hayes relaxed. Reed cracked his eyes open as Hayes squeezed the last few drops out of his cock and shook it. "Give me a second," Hayes murmured, his breathing still wild.

A few long moments later, Hayes stood up with a grunt. Reed shut his eyes. When he felt the touch of the warm, wet cloth, he immediately turned to grant Hayes access, and Hayes gently cleaned his face off.

"There. I think you're clean." Hayes set the cloth next to the padd on Reed's desk. He returned to the bed, his step surprisingly light for such a big man. Hayes's cock was no longer fully erect but was still heavy looking, Reed noticed. He slid in next to Reed, who had pulled a blanket up to cover his legs.

"Also exhausted—even more so now, thanks to you," Reed said. He brushed his fingers through Hayes's short hair. "I think I rather like it when you do all the work."

"When I'm in an awful accident and injured, you can return the favor." Hayes kissed Reed's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll go as soon as I catch my breath."

"It's all right." Reed leaned in. Hayes tasted bitter and salty; he was tasting himself, Reed realized. "Stay as long as you like. I will likely fall asleep."

"You do that."

Reed murmured, "I did ask you not to drop by. I'm afraid I really do need rest, and now I will be a terrible host and fall asleep with a guest here." He touched Hayes's chest. "Really, you are most terribly annoying."

And yet Hayes had just shown such generosity and gentleness that Reed had handed all power to him without compunction. He'd lain back and let Hayes take him, and Hayes had not hurt him or left him hanging. It was the first time they'd come together without a sparring match being somehow involved, without attempting to best each other physically to gain dominance. Reed hadn't made love in any manner that could be described as slow and sweet in a very, very long time. He had no idea how someone whom he found so annoying could result in such sexual intensity. And now he had to rethink his picture of Hayes, because he hadn't suspected that Hayes was capable of generosity and gentleness. He'd been very wrong.

"I'm sure you perceive it like that," was Hayes's response, and Reed smiled. "I'm sorry about Commander Tucker," Hayes added.

"He's in good care," Reed responded automatically. At Hayes's expression, he added, "Sorry. I know you didn't mean his—our—accident." He brushed the edge of Hayes's face. "He will never want me."

"And you will always want him."

Reed, caught in Hayes's guarded gaze, moved his head slightly to indicate a dismissive shrug. "Probably," he admitted. "It's not important. Nothing can come of it. I know that."

"Ah. Nothing can come of it—like this. Us. You and me."

Reed thought about it, mind working slowly in his exhaustion. What had Hayes said when he'd first arrived? Oh yes. What he and Reed did together was important to him. He could send Hayes away with a word forever, right now, if he chose—his last power play. Hayes had given him an opening. He'd admitted a vulnerability and then given Reed the tools to exploit it.

He decided he didn't want to take that opening. Hayes deserved the truth. And after all, he'd shown Reed hidden depths.

"Not at all like us," he murmured, pulling Hayes in. They kissed, trying out the new, quiet, languorous kisses instead of the frantic, hard ones they usually shared. "It is important."

And who knows what might come of it, Reed thought as he rested comfortably next to Hayes's warmth. He wasn't ready yet to think that far into the future. For now, important would do.