Status: WIP

Pairing: Archer/other

Summary: Captain Archer finds understanding in an unexpected place.

Beta: Not yet.  It's probably a mess.

Spoilers: Strategem


Author's notes: This is a work in progress, ie.  I haven't even finished this part
yet, but thought I'd put it up since it will be a while.  Just insert you're own
graphic sex scene at the end.  

The concept that came to me is that the crew of the Enterprise, especially her
senior officers, are all exceptional physically and mentally in a way that is
pretty rare.  Yet there are people who are talented but aren't brilliant at
everything, who'd like to get into space too.  




Jon entered his quarters, throwing the towel about his shoulders on his desk,
feeling damp and tired after his exercize set in the ship’s gym.  He sat down
heavily, quickly checking for messages, but there were none.  He’d been
hoping for a distraction, some sort of report or schedule he could examine, but
apparently Enterprise was running just fine without him.  If he hadn’t promised
Phlox that he’d take some time off, he’d have dressed and gone to the bridge,
but his shift was officially over, and now so was his workout, so there was
nothing he specifically had to do.  Yes they were flying directly towards the
Xindi weapon, and yes he’d started participating in some personal combat
training with both Lieutenant Reed and Major Hayes (not telling the other, of
course).  And yes, their initial plan of attack was set once they arrived at the
red giant, yet somehow he still found himself with free time, and he wasn’t
remotely tired, despite the lethargy in his limbs from weight-lifting.
Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, considering calling Trip, Phlox, and even
Malcolm to see what they were doing, but he knew they were technically on
shift right now, and couldn’t think of a good reason to distract them.  He
stood, pacing his room listlessly.  It was then that he noticed Porthos was
nowhere to be seen.  Had the dog somehow managed to escape or lock himself
in the bathroom again?  He keyed the door open, starting at the sight of the
figure inside.  A startled steward, obviously tidying Jon’s countertop, nearly
dropped the bottles he was replacing.  Porthos sat on the floor apparently
watching the man with fascination until he saw Jon and sauntered over to him,
his tail wagging in greeting.
“Crewman Forsythe?” Jon asked, surprised.  Normally, Crewman Kadinsky
cleaned his quarters.
“I’m sorry Captain, I thought you were on duty,” the young man explained
hurriedly, with a faint trace of a southern accent.  He was clearly distraught by
being caught doing his job; the stewards generally did their best to stay out of
sight when cleaning crew quarters.
      “There was a last minute change in my schedule,” Archer explained, “ It
probably didn’t make it to your database in time.  Where’s Crewman Kadinsky?
      “He’s not feeling well,” Forsythe said, a well told but easily detected lie,
“It was the end of my shift, so I volunteered to finish your quarters.”
      Archer laughed, genuinely amused, “What did you trade him for that?”
Forsythe looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Archer decided to let him off
the hook, “Don’t answer that Crewman, I know it happens all the time.”
      The man exhaled with relief, “Thank you, sir.  I’ll be finished in just a
moment.”
      Jon examined the young crewman, though it was not for the first time, it
was, however, the first opportunity he’d had to take note of the man as he
rarely ever saw him.   Archer remembered the first time they’d met at the initial
crew interviews prior to Enterprise’s maiden voyage.  He’d been struck by
Aaron Forsythe’s easy nature and infectious smile, his fair hair and tanned
complexion had been a result of shore leave in the south of France.  Archer
was surprised he’d actually recalled that much detail, normally he made certain
he knew the crew’s starfleet profile, but young Forsythe’s initial impression had
been a good one, and Jon had been looking for stewards who would help to
maintain crew morale in daily life.
      Wandering out into his bedroom, Archer realized he was in need of some
light company, and Forsythe’s enforced presence was simply good luck, “So
Crewman, if I remember correctly, the Enterprise was your first starship
commission.”
      “That’s right, sir, though I had served for a year and a half on Jupiter
Station,” the man answered from the bathroom.
      “I remember,” Jon said, “The quarter master gave you the most glowing
review I’ve seen."        
Forsythe stuck his head out of the bathroom, smiling, “Lieutenant Borden was
always a little enthusiastic.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Jon offered, “I also remember you did well in the
Starfleet officer’s exams, but you chose to become a steward.  I wondered why,
but never got the opportunity to ask.”
The young man stepped out of the bathroom, cleaning supplies in hand, “I
guess I did ok, but I wasn’t great and I didn’t want to be stuck landside.”
“Why would you be stuck landside?” Jon wondered.
Forsythe ventured a little further into the room as he considered the question,
“I’m not good at science or engineering, I don’t like fighting, and I don’t think I’
d be very good at giving orders, so there’s really no other place for me in
starfleet.  I love being out here, seeing the things we see, and I love working
with the crew, helping to create a home, being there for people who need a
good ear or someone to make them smile.  I’m really good at that, and as my
mother used to tell me, go with your strengths.  Of course, at the time she
thought I’d be a concert cellist or a doctor.  She was light-years off about that.”
Jon couldn’t help grinning at Forsythe’s easy Georgian accent and the honest
account of his place on the ship.  “I’m sure the crew appreciates that more than
having a concert cellist on board.”  In fact, Archer wondered just how many of
his crew had developed an attraction to the charismatic man.  Since rank and
position were difficult issues in navigating relationships between enlisted
crewmen, a steward was a relatively safe person to pursue.  That, and the fact
that Forsythe was quite handsome, Jon decided, his tall frame and fair features
only enhanced by his sunny disposition.
“I certainly hope so sir,” Forsythe said earnestly, “Well, I should get out of
your hair.”
Archer eyed the man thoughtfully, truthfully not wanting to be left alone again,
and somewhat curious to know more about the young steward, “You’re off
duty, then?”
“Yes sir, once I report that your quarters have been cleaned.”
Jon gestured to his comm panel, “go ahead,” he suggested easily.  Forsythe
hesitated in surprise, but he went to the comm and opened a channel to the
quarter-master, informing the man that his job was completed.
“Thank you, Captain,” he said once finished.
“Have a seat, Crewman,” Jon offered, “unless you have some pressing business
elsewhere?”
“No sir,” he answered, seating himself across from Archer on his small couch,
studying his Captain with curiosity.  Once he had Forsythe’s undivided
attention, he was left strangely speechless, wondering what the young man
thought of the odd situation.  Luckily the awkward paused was saved by
Forsythe himself.
“Captain, I hear you were able to get the information you needed from the
captured Xindi.  Chef said he had an interesting time making fake rations from
an alien civilization.
Archer nodded, “We staged a simulation to convince the man named Degra to
give us the coordinates of the weapon development site.  It worked after a
while.  The hardest part was pretending to be his ally.”
“It must have been hard to let him go, too,” the man observed.
“It was but it was necessary,” Archer said in a monotone.
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be to always have to do what’s necessary,”
the man said sympathetically.  Jon looked away from the compassion in the
steward’s eyes; the easy understanding of the weight that had been laid on
Archer over the past seven months.  It was surprising how close to the
turbulent emotions Archer controlled on a daily basis the young crewman had
touched with the simple statement.  Instinctively Archer put his guard up,
though not callously; this was one of his charges who needed to see his Captain
confident and in control.  But Forsythe seemed determined to pursue the topic,
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted,” Jon agreed reluctantly.  He was the one who had invited the
steward to stay in a less than formal setting after all.
“You didn’t like having to fool Degra, did you?”
Jon regarded him steadily, wanting to ask how exactly he figured that, but part
of him didn’t want to know, afraid it had something to do with the kind of
Captain he felt he used to be. “No I didn’t.  I think I’d have rather shot him out
of the sky, but it was necessary.”
Forsythe nodded soberly, “Captain, I just want you to know I believe in this
mission completely, but sometimes it seems like what we have to do will only
confirm what the Xindy were told about us.”
Hearing those words come from a regular crewman stung Archer, because he
knew he could not provide the comfort of a single-minded focus to someone
sensitive enough to understand the subtleties of the situation.  Even
Lieutenant Reed hadn’t understood when he’d chosen to spare the Kemocyte
Refining Facility.  Watching Archer’s reaction, the young man seemed to regret
his words.  “I’m sorry Captain, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s alright, Crewman, you’re not the first to think that, and you won’t be the
last.”
“Captain, would it be alright if you called me Adam…since I’m off duty.  It
would make me feel…” he hesitated, flushing slightly in embarrassment,
clearly lost in the whole situation.
“It’s fine, Adam, I understand.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Archer watched him for a moment, before speaking, ‘I know it’s been a tough
time for the whole crew,” Jon offered, sensing part of Adam’s desire to be
recognized as a person rather than a title. “I’d like to be able to give some
comfort to everyone, but all I can give is my strength and appreciation of for
the jobs you do.”
      “We know sir,” Adam answered, “And I take my comfort knowing that
your still the same man I met at Jupiter Station, and still the same Captain I
joined the Enterprise for.”
      Archer leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, “You make it sound
like you chose me,” he said, grinning.
      Forsythe blushed slightly, again a little embarrassed, “You did choose me
when I applied for the commission, but I did a lot of research on the
Enterprise…and her Captain before I applied.”
Jon realized suddenly that the man was flirting with him, albeit very subtly,
carefully walking the line between implying an interest in Archer beyond a
formal relationship and leaving him the option to ignore the suggestion if he
wasn’t receptive or ignorant of the advance in the first place.  It was more than
a bit of a surprise; Adam didn’t seem distinctly gay, then again he didn’t
cultivate an air of straightness either.  Archer was decidedly flattered, the last
person that had been remotely interested in him had been the alien Rajin,
though he hadn’t been particularly inclined to return it of his own free will, nor
had her interest been sincere.  For Adam’s part, he seemed sincere, but Archer
couldn’t consider it; he was the man’s Captain, and there was little room for
error in command judgement these days.  Still, he did not want to dismiss the
young man, enjoying his company, and he was curious.  Jon wanted to know if
Forsythe was serious, or if he’d imagined the intent behind his comments.  
There was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, so long as it remained
harmless, and implied.  Very slowly Jon leaned back in his chair, spreading his
legs and shifting his hips forward.  The action would appear as though he were
simply relaxing his pose, but he knew from experience that the fall of his soft
sweat pants across his hips would reveal a hint of definition between his legs.  
He was wearing his blue briefs, so everything was in place and little really
exposed; it was the implication of the gesture he was going for.  He spoke as he
moved, continuing the conversation, “You were very thorough.”
“Yes sir,” Forsythe agreed, his eyes not moving from Archer’s, “I knew if I
wasn’t careful I’d end up cleaning up after a ship of slobs.  Call it self-
protection.”        
Archer grinned, reaching up to link both hands behind his head, his arms bare
from the sleeveless shirt he wore to the gym, “Well, I certainly hope we’re not
that bad.”
Archer was just starting to doubt himself when Forsythe flinched, his eyes
dropping briefly to Jon’s hips, then snapped back to his face, embarrassed.
“No sir, though with the ship shaking around so much, it gets pretty messy,” he
said, then swallowed heavily, his gaze becoming unfocused, his easy nature
replaced by an uncertain tension.  Suddenly, he seemed to come to his senses
and stood, “Well, I shouldn’t waste anymore of your time, Captain.”
Before Jon could protest, Adam had spotted the towel he’d discarded on the
desk and seized it like it was a life raft.  “Should I take this to the laundry, sir?”
Feeling like a heel for behaving like an adolescent, Archer leaped up and took
the towel from the man, “No don’t worry about it…” Jon’s voice trailed off as
Adam’s eyes drifted downward and froze.  He felt it just as he followed the
man’s gaze; the beginnings of an erection pressing outward on his sweat pants.  
Slowly, at a loss for words, his gaze met Adam’s stunned expression, their eyes
locking.  There was no help for it now; Jon’s game of begging for attention like
a cat in heat had utterly and embarrassingly backfired.  He struggled to say
something, but stopped, seeing a change in Adam’s blue eyes: the determined
clarity of a decision made.
They were standing close, so the man didn’t have far to move as he leaned in,
his lips hesitantly finding Jon’s as though he fully were expecting to be struck.  
The touch was soft, tentative, yet electric.  Jon seized on the offered mouth
like a starving man given a feast.  He reached out, grasping the steward’s
uniform and pulling him close.  Their tongues engaged lighting a fire of
sensation as they forcefully searched for the core of each other.   For a man so
young, Jon was pleasantly surprised by his skill; the art of kissing so often
woefully misunderstood by youth.  Which is why, lost in the exquisite teasing
of Adam’s mouth, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the man’s hand
cupped his burgeoning erection firmly, the thumb stroking through the cloth.  
Archer broke the kiss, staring at the young man’s flushed complexion but no
longer seeing a hint of doubt there.  
He opened his mouth to speak but Adam placed a finger over his lips,
forestalling the inevitable admission that the situation was spiraling out of
control.
      “Wait,” was all the man said as he stepped back, undoing the zipper in a
quick, decisive motion and shrugged out of his coveralls, the uniform falling to
his waist. “You’re no longer my Captain,” he said in a low voice, pushing the
uniform to his ankles, then pulling his black sweater over his head, revealing a
lithe muscularity and smooth hairless skin. “And I’m not your crewman, not
tonight,” he stepped out of his uniform, only his blue briefs remaining, poorly
hiding his own bound erection which Jon couldn’t take his eyes from. “We’re
just two men in the frontier of space,” he said, approaching Archer, but before
Jon could a coherent objection, Adam knelt before him, deftly pulling his
sweats downward, the sudden exposure of cooler air a shock on his damp skin.  
With another deft movement, he slipped his fingers beneath the band of his
skivvies, lifting them down and over his hard shaft, pushing them down to his
ankles.  Warm hands drifted through the hair at the base of his erection, lifting
it’s heavy length.  Jon glanced downward in time to see the man’s tongue draw
a slow circle  around the head of his cock, the shivering sensation driving the
air from his lungs in a sharp gasp before he felt himself sheathed in the hot
moisture of Forsythe’s mouth.