He wakes up hard, a heavy weight pressing against his hips.

Travis is straddling him, a faintly blurred, but clearly wide, grin on his face.  Ah, the trademark of a morning person.


He blinks slowly, to clear his vision.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, great.  Not as well as you though.  You were drooling a little on the pillow."

Lovely.  "Thank you so much for informing me."  He really can't help the slight snark to his tone.  Apparently, this doesn't put Travis off, who shifts a little in a way which is almost, but not quite, casual and innocent.

"Are you always cranky when you wake up?"  Travis is still grinning, a slight tease to his voice.

Hmph.  It boggles the mind how some people can be so cheerful soon after waking. Despite his slight irritability, he starts to stroke Travis's thigh.  He's trying to think of a moderate response, but then there's a tongue on his neck, and that's just nice.  Teeth follow, scraping lightly, and that moves things beyond nice.  "You're awfully forward, Ensign."  He manages to stifle his gasp as teeth dig in sharply, but the fact that his hand tightens  on Travis's leg is not lost on either of them.

Travis moves up and away slightly.  "Calling me 'Ensign" makes me think I should be doing practice battle drills with you, instead of sitting on you.  Naked, I might add."

He carefully steels his face against a smirk.  "You're naked?  I hadn't noticed.  And as we're on the subject, how are your combat response times?"  He's quite pleased with his aplomb, but as Travis shifts back down, he wonders why he's teasing.   Maybe it has something to do with a ridiculous sense of pride or control.


No.  He's teasing because he can't resist the wide grin Travis gets when he's happy.  "Yes.  Sorry.  I shall try to be more courteous."

"Don't.  It's all part of your charm."

It's his cue to say something about Travis's considerable charms, but somehow, he just doesn't.  The smile doesn't fade though, so perhaps it's not the faux pas it could be.   He reaches up, and strokes a finger below Travis's ribs.  The slight hitch of breath above him makes him smile, and he flattens his palm, pushing inwards and down. Flexing, he pulls Travis's head down, kissing hard.  Their teeth clack briefly, and he wraps his hand around Travis's cock, working his thumb over the sticky head.  The corresponding thrust of hips provides him with a tease of friction.

The night before, their first together, Travis was eager and slightly clumsy, an endearing combination of qualities.  Now, bodies heavy with sleep and memories, they are slower, less intense.  It's a wonderful contrast, and he revels in it, working his hand slowly as Travis pants into his mouth.  The back of his head is cradled, and a thumb strokes lightly against his nape.  It's a rather sweet touch, and he concentrates on it, rather than the press-slide of Travis and the brush of  his hand against his own cock.  He's always been good at temporarily ignoring the signals of his body, an ability that he's certain helps make him a competent armoury officer.

Travis begins to shake slightly, so he slides his hand across Travis's shoulder, then down so that he can gently twist a nipple.  The shakes get slightly more obvious, and he moves his mouth to suck under Travis's jaw.  It's not much longer before he feels Travis go rigid, then warmth, sticky and thick, covers his hand, slips onto his belly.

As Travis relaxes into him, he quickly wipes his hand on the corner of the sheet.  He's still hard and his belly itches slightly, but right now he's enjoying the heaviness of Travis's head against his breastbone.  It's quiet for a few moments as he strokes his hand down Travis's sweat-slick back.

"Thanks."  The voice is muffled, and delicate vibrations reverberate through him.

"My pleasure."  It truly was.  He's about to follow-up with 'Anytime', but perhaps that assumes too much.  Instead, he runs his hand down again, enjoying the play of muscles against his palm.

"You haven't..."


Travis shifts up, kisses him briefly, then slowly moves down, pausing at various places to press kisses and licks into his skin.  He gives into the sensations, arching slightly as teeth scrape the jut of his hip, the space under his navel, the top of his thigh.  Soft lips move to his shaft, running down, then back up, and he groans as Travis takes him into his mouth.

He's aware that he's probably holding too tightly onto Travis's shoulder, and he tries to ease up, to make his fingers stroke instead of clench.   He's not sure how successful he is, but it's remarkably inconsequential when soft licks change to sustained suction.

Hands move under his hips, encouraging him to thrust upwards, so he does.  Travis is wonderful, and he loses himself to the slide of warmth around him, the movement of throat muscles as Travis swallows, the slick occasional thrusts, the heat of Travis's hands.  The warmth intensifies, becomes something more than a slow, urgent pulse, and he bites his hand to stifle a moan as he comes.  The ship sometimes carries sounds in a most unexpected way.

Travis swallows around him, and with a parting lick, moves up and kisses his neck.  "Feeling any more cheerful?"

He smiles.  "Infinitely."  You're lovely, he wants to say, but it sounds too soft in his head.  Instead, he tightens his arm around Travis's waist, and kisses him back.

Perversely, afterwards he begins to have some doubts.  Travis is again lying half-on and half-off of him, occasionally shifting slightly. He's warm, he's content, and he's uncertain.  How very typical.

He's astute enough to realise that Travis is mostly likely uninterested in a casual relationship.  If he's honest with himself, he would like more as well.  He's simply not certain that it is wise. Most likely, Travis picks up on his growing discomfort, because he shifts away slightly, and begins to talk.

"I have about an hour until my shift.  What about you?"

They're on staggered duty shifts, enough to partially overlap. "Four hours.  I'll be on the bridge first.  I have hand-to-hand and phase pistol training sessions with some of the crewmen later."

"Do you want to have lunch together?"

Yes.  But --they've been spending an awful lot of time together in the past few days.  Perhaps now is the time for some discretion.  "Would that be wise?"

Travis laughs. "What, afraid that I'll grab you in the mess?  Give a show to everyone there?  I think I can wait until we're somewhere less public."

He cringes slightly at the thought of Travis caressing him in public, the crew watching with avid, curious eyes.  "It's -- it just might be awkward.  The crew may not be especially receptive if they were to learn we're...involved."

"Why not?"

It sounds weak in his head, and he hesitates for a moment.  "Rank.  It might not be flattering for either of us."  He doesn't voice that Travis is perhaps too young.  It would be condescending, particularly given the life Travis has led.

Travis moves to lean on one elbow, looking down at him slightly. "Relationships happen between different ranks all of the time, Malcolm.  Nobody makes an issue of it, and if they do, they soon find something else to talk about.  The captain will understand."

Relationship.  "We're both bridge crew."

"You're kind of paranoid, you know that?"

He stiffens, then shrugs.  "It helps with the job, Ensign."  He winces internally at his automatic use of a dismissive, removed tone of voice, and the invocation of rank.   The slight hurt expression on Travis's face is enough to let his own face show his regret.  "Sorry. It' automatic reaction."  Travis sits up, rubbing his face. "I'm not especially good with people at times."

"Yeah."  The bed shifts as Travis stands.

He stares at the ceiling, ill at ease.  Eventually he hears the shower start.  A few minutes later, Travis is back in the room, pulling on his uniform.

"I--."  He closes his mouth.


What does he want from Travis?  Can he make a connection this time? He could end it now, with a few words.  He's certainly done so before, many times.  He's practised enough that he could word the rejection in a way that ensure Travis would feel minimal hurt.  They would be able to continue to work together, and if he sometimes got maudlin over the memories of the past week, it was a pain he would be able to endure.

Travis is looking down at him.  He's clean and rested, if slightly rumpled and hurt.  The combination is both attractive and painful to see.

He closes his eyes, then opens them again.  "I believe lunch would be good."  He smiles awkwardly.  "1300 hours?"  He reaches out, places his hand just above Travis's knee, and just enjoys the warmth radiating though the fabric.

Travis looks down at him, smiling shyly, and they're still for a few moments.  Then he removes his hand, and gently pushes at Travis's leg. "You don't want to be late.  You'd best be off before we have to concoct a story for why you arrive on the bridge in a rumpled uniform."

A few more words, a few more tentative smiles, and then he's alone. He's agreed to lunch, but he has contingency plans, as always.  He could cancel.  He could rearrange his schedule, claim that he's in the middle of something and unavailable.    He could invent a surprise security drill for the entire ship.

He could say a relationship is not viable onboard.  He could tell Travis that he works better alone.

He could.

He wonders exactly when alone began to feel somewhat awkward.


                        return to Icing

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Reed/Mayweather
Warnings:  nope
Spoilers:  Not particularly
Sequel:  Yes.  This follows 'Icing'
Archive:  list archive, please
Feedback:  Very much appreciated!

Notes:  Much thanks to Kipli, who convinced me that this doesn't suck, and who pointed out some awkward wording.  Thanks to Kim, who offered her encouragement.   You guys rock.  Also, thank you so much to everyone who commented on Icing.


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