A gentle nudge.  "Trip?"

"Mmm?"

"You awake?"

"Well I am now," he said crossly.  He blinked and looked around.  "What time is it?"

"Thirteen hundred."

"That late?"  He tried to sit up.  "I'm supposed to be in Engineering.  Hess is gonna – "

Archer pushed him back down.  "Nope.  Not today."

"What are you talking about?"

"Phlox."

"What about him?"

"He thinks you've been doing too much too soon."

"And?"

"So you're going back to off-duty status."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

Trip sighed, looked up at Archer.  "Why are you here?  Shouldn't you be on-duty?"

Archer shrugged.  "It's quiet.  I'm entitled to a lunch break."

"Okay.  Let's eat."

Archer did not answer directly.  Instead, his hand slipped under the covers.  Trip, who had not bothered to put his pajamas back on, caught his breath and shifted slightly.  "Jon?"

His lover kissed him and moved closer.  Trip moaned; now Jon's hands were busily exploring him, with highly pleasurable results. 

"Jon?" he asked again.

"What is it, Trip?"

"What's on the menu?"

Jon grinned at him, began undoing his own uniform.  "Well," he drawled, slipping out of his coverall, "I thought that," he continued, taking off his T-shirt, "considering all the options," peeling off his undershirt, "that what I'm really in the mood for," his briefs were next, "is a great big helping of," and he pulled the covers back, "Trip Tucker."

*  *  *

"How was that?"

"Ask me when I'm conscious."

"You hungry?"

"Oh, God, Jon, I'm too tired to be hungry."

Archer looked stricken at this.  "I'm sorry, Trip.  I should have realized –"

Trip smiled sleepily.  "You didn't hear me holler 'stop', did you?  Either time?"

"Maybe not.  But you're still on sick leave.  Just because you're feeling better is no reason for me to forget that."

"I'm not exactly an invalid, you know."

"I know.  But – "

Trip sighed, turned to him, slipped his arms about the Captain.  "Jon.  Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"For the love of God, shut up."

*  *  *

"Hey."

Trip looked up from the couch as the Captain entered their quarters.  "Hey yourself."

"You eat?"

"Yeah.  I was feeling pretty tired, so instead of going to the mess, I asked Chef to send me something.  And brother, did he ever."

"Good?"

"All four courses.  I don't think I can move."  Trip stretched, rubbed his neck.  "And Phlox dropped by a little while ago."

Archer sat beside him.  "What did he have to say?"

Trip arched a brow at him.  "He said, and I quote, 'Moderation, Commander'."

Archer began to massage Trip's neck and shoulders.  "I guess we're busted."

"We?"

"Yeah.  He stopped by my ready room.  Said the same thing to me."

Trip groaned in pleasure as Jon's strong fingers found the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders, and began to ease the tension away.  "How do you figure he found out?  I didn't say anything."

"There's not much that escapes Phlox's attention, you know."

"No kidding."  He was silent for a moment.  "You know, he did take a scan when he dropped by.  Maybe something did – or didn't – show up."

"Hormone levels, maybe?"

"Hmmm.  That might do it."  He sighed and shifted as a particularly tight knot of muscles began to loosen up.  "I was wondering, though ..."

"What, Trip?"

"What do you think the Denobulan definition of 'moderation' is?"

*  *  *

"Hey."

Trip looked up.  "Hey yourself."

Archer began to change into his civvies, looked over to where Trip was stretched out on the bed, reading.  "You get any sleep today?"

Trip yawned.  "Did I ever.  I just got up a little while ago."  He saw the look Jon gave him, and added hastily, "I ate, too.  Went to the mess and loaded up.  You can ask Malcolm."

"I believe you, Trip."  He finished changing, stretched out beside Trip.  "What are you reading."

Trip held up the padd.  "Engineering report."

Archer frowned.  "Trip – "

Trip interrupted.  "Look, Jon.  I accept the fact that I'm still on sick leave.  And I haven't been anywhere near Engineering.  Really.  But I've got to know what's going on.  Otherwise, when I do go back, I'll never be able to get back up to speed."  Porthos, who was lying at Trip's feet, wagged his tail.  "Hey," Trip said, pointing it out.  "Even Porthos agrees."

"Last time I looked," Archer replied dryly, "Porthos wasn't captain."

Trip, knowing this was Jon's way of giving his grudging permission, grinned.  "Things may yet change."

Archer stretched.  "Brat."

"Tyrant."

"Humph."

Trip grinned again.  "Gotcha."

Archer turned on his side, facing him. "How long is that report?"

"Ah – it's pretty short.  Only 12 pages."

Archer slipped his hand under Trip's shirt.  "Break it down for me."

Trip shifted.  "What?"  He closed his eyes as Jon's fingers found one of his nipples, began to gently manipulate it.

"You heard me."

"Uh ... I heard... but ... "

"You're so interested in this damn report.  Give me a breakdown."

Trip opened his eyes at this, although Jon had not stopped his manipulations.  "You're not serious."

"Oh, but I am."  He stopped long enough to peel Trip's shirt off.

"This your way of getting even, is it?"

"Yep."

"You really are a son of a – ah, God, Jon ..."

Archer smiled.  "You bet I am.  Now, Commander – the report."  He bent his head to Trip's chest, began running his tongue back and forth.

"Oh ... my ... Ah, okay.  Basically –"

Archer stopped.  "No, no, no.  A page-by-page synopsis, please."

"Are you kidding?"

Archer took an already outraged nipple in one hand, began to gently tease further with his fingers.  "No, I'm not.  Page one."

Trip arched his back.  "Page one.  Page one ... " He thumbed the padd.  "Page one," he said breathlessly, "sets out basic engineering stats for the past month.  How many hours at impulse," he groaned, "that kind ... of thing ..." he trailed off.

"Is that the best you can do, Commander?"  And without waiting for a reply, Archer began to use his lips and tongue again, while running his fingertips lightly along Trip's sides. 

"Oh, God, Jon, you're a real bastard, you know that, right?"

"That sounds dangerously close to subordination, Commander.  But I'll let it slide – for now.  Page two."  And he took his own shirt off, while Trip tried to find page two on the padd. 

"Page two," he finally said hoarsely, "is a breakdown of the amount of warp plasma used in relation to engine use.  It's – it's actually a pretty good ratio."

"'Pretty good'?  They teach you those terms in all those Engineering classes you took?"

"Smart guy.  You try and do better."

Archer did not answer; instead, he began to caress Trip again.  "Page three?" he finally asked.

Trip tried to read the report, but it was difficult; the numbers were dancing before his eyes, and he was starting to have other things on his mind – and elsewhere.  "Page three," he finally managed.  "Well, pages three to six details repairs done in Engineering."

"Such as?"

He groaned, as Jon ran a teasing finger up and down his stomach.  "That plasma vent in the nacelle.  That's – that's about it.  The rest is," he gasped, "mostly small stuff."  He closed his eyes as Jon set about removing his bottoms. 

"Keep going," he heard Jon say.  Only if you do, he was tempted to respond, but managed not to.  With difficulty.  

"Pages six to ten are all the repairs that are carried out aboard ship."

Jon's voice was infuriatingly calm as he trailed his fingers along the insides of Trip's thighs.  "Anything I should know about?"

"Besides the fact that you're driving me nuts?"

Jon did not reply.  Instead, he simply pulled on the waistband of Trip's briefs, removed them.  Trip arched his back and moaned softly as Jon bent his head, began to slowly, deliberately nibble on Trip's erect member.  "Jon ..."

Archer stopped, took Trip in hand, squeezed very lightly.  "I'll ask again.  Anything important?"

"Not unless you count ... oh, God, Jon ..." Trip was whimpering, but Jon was merciless.  He squeezed again, very lightly, just enough to drive Trip slightly crazier than he already was.  "Okay!  Is changing the lights in Subcommander T'Pol's quarters six times important?"

"Six times?  Why?"

"Jesus, Jon, how the hell should I know?  Probably the goddamned panels weren't aligned to the correct 1/100 centimeters."

Archer began to stroke him, very, very slowly.  Trip cried out.  "The last two pages?"

Trip whimpered again.  "Just notations.  Personnel.  Who's been off.  Leave.  Accidents."

"Accidents?"

"Jon, please ..."

"Accidents?"  Archer repeated patiently.

"Nothing serious," Trip managed to gasp.  "A few bruises.  Minor cuts.  And Rostov burned his fingers.  Again." 

"Again?"

Trip groaned.  "He's a good engineer," he finally managed, "but the ol' hand-to-eye co-ordination is sometimes ... lacking ..."

Archer smiled at him.  "That's a somewhat sketchy analysis ..."

For an answer, Trip hurled the padd across the room.  "Goddammit, Jon!"

Archer laughed, leaned forward and kissed Trip.  "I'm sorry.  I am a son of a bitch, aren't I?  I don't know why you put up with me."

"I don't either," Trip growled.

Archer kissed him again, lay beside him.  "Let me make it up to you, okay?"

"You're damned right you're going to."

Archer smiled again.  "Noted."  He pulled Trip onto his side, kissed him deeply and ran his hands up and down his back.

Trip sighed, closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Jon's hands wandering over him, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake.  "Trip," his lover said softly.  He opened his eyes to find that Jon had somehow managed to remove his clothing as well, and was lying on his side away from Trip.

"You sure?"

"Go ahead," Jon invited.  He reached over, handed Trip a tube of lube gel.  "I promised I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

Trip grinned.  "Page by goddamned page, no less."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Archer grimaced.  "I guess I have it coming."

"That's not all you're gonna have coming, buddy."

He felt Trip position himself, then moaned as his young lover entered him. 

"Tell me about page one of my report."

"You're a brat."

"Noted."  Trip nibbled on his lover's ear.  "But turnabout is fair play."

"All right, you brat."  He closed his eyes, began to recite in time to Trip's thrusts.  "Page one – engineering stats.  Page two – oh, Trip ... page two – warp plasma consumption." 

He moaned, deep in his throat, but Trip was as merciless as he had been.  "That's only two," he heard him gasp.  "You can do better than that, can't you?"

"Pages three to sex – I mean six  - repairs in Engineering."  He heard Trip moan in his ear.  It was becoming difficult to remember; he had other things now to think about.  Such as Trip, moving in him, Trip's hand on his sex, rhythmically stroking, moving, rubbing ... But to quit now would take the fun out of their little game.  And Trip was right; turnabout was fair play.  "Six to ten," he managed, "repairs to the ship.  And," he gasped, "ten to twelve, Engineering personnel reports."  He finished just in time; Trip's thrusts were becoming faster, harder, and Trip was pumping him in time with them.  Archer could feel his climax approaching.  "Oh, God, Trip," he moaned, "Don't stop.  Please."

"I've no intention of stopping," Trip said, his accent more noticeable, as it always was when he was excited.  He closed his eyes.  God, it felt so good, being with Jon like this!  He had a brief, passing wish that they could stay like this forever, suspended in time-space, and then his climax hit him.  He stiffened and cried out.  An instant later, he felt Jon come in his hand.

He sighed and slowly relaxed.  Through drowsy eyes, he watched Jon get up, clean himself, and then climb back into bed.  He pulled the covers back over them, and Porthos, who had retreated to his own little bed when the fun had started, bounded back up and settled at their feet. 

Jon took Trip in his arms, and he snuggled close, enjoying the warmth and close contact with his lover.  He made a small, sleepy sound of contentment.  "Hell of a way to deliver a report," he observed languidly.

"Unforgettable," was the reply.

"Going to make that standard procedure?"

"It's tempting.  What do you think?"

Trip smiled sleepily.  "I don't know.  I'd be worried about some of the reports I get – or write, for that matter.  Could you survive a 100 page analysis of warp field dynamics and subspace structures?"

"Oh, hell – that would probably be fatal."  Jon smiled and kissed him.  "Still – what a way to go."

*  *  *

Trip yawned, stretched and looked around.  The bedside clock told him it was mid-afternoon.  It seemed that all he was doing lately was sleeping.  He smiled.  Well, all right, that wasn't all.  The past three days had passed in an erotic haze.  It seemed that he and Jon were intent on making up for lost time.  He stretched again.  Well, if Phlox was going to continue to insist that Trip stay in bed, then he couldn't think of a better way to pass the time.  And even Phlox would have to admit that he was getting plenty of sleep.

He lay motionless for a quiet moment.  Jon had woken him this morning before his shift had started, and they shared a gentle interlude before Jon had to go to the bridge.  Talk about starting the day off with a bang, he thought. 

He was also beginning to realize just exactly what he had let himself in for.  Jon was most definitely an alpha male, with a capital "A", and as such, enjoyed both initiating things and taking control once they were underway.  As a result, Trip often found himself on the receiving end of skillful manipulations that left him gasping and exhausted.  Jon had relented to the extent where he now allowed Trip to give as well as receive, but it had been Jon who had the deciding vote on that issue.

Trip found he didn't mind.  Jon was a accomplished and considerate lover, and it seemed that he was determined to replace all the memories that Trip had of the cold callous treatment he received on Tasumi, where he had been simply a toy for the enjoyment of others, to those where lovemaking meant he was cherished and protected. 

He also knew that Jon would never force himself on him.  Really, when he thought about it, that meant he held all the cards here.  All he had to do was say "no", and Jon would respect that.  Knowing that had brought him the freedom and confidence to respond freely to Jon's attentions.

He shifted.  He was naked under the covers – again.  He wondered whether he should just forgo wearing pajamas altogether; after all, he couldn't seem to keep them on lately.  Upon further consideration, he decided against it.  Jon seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from undressing him, and if that was the case, why deny him such a simple thing?

He yawned again.  He should really go and get some chow, but it would probably be best if he had a shower first.  He was probably pretty fragrant by now.

He rose, went into the bathroom, thoughtfully fingering his jaw as he went.  He definitely needed a shave.  And the use of a toothbrush was probably indicated as well.

He turned the water on, stepped underneath the stream and turned his face gratefully up into the hot water.  It was then he heard someone enter the room, and he looked over his shoulder.  It was Jon, and he was staring at Trip with a particular intensity that gave him a slightly fluttery feel in the region of his belly. 

"How's the water?"

He knew all he had to say was something non-committal, and Jon would leave him alone.  But he really didn't want that, did he?  Oh, well – what the hell.

He gave Jon a saucy grin.  "Why not find out for yourself?"

"I thought you'd never ask," was the hoarse response.  Quickly, Jon shed his clothes and joined him under the shower.  He soaped Trip's back, and Trip returned the favor.  Then Jon turned, began to soap Trip's chest and stomach.  He pressed close, took Trip in his arms and kissed him hungrily, greedily.  Trip returned the kiss, and felt Jon's hands run up and down his back, then along his chest, his stomach – and lower down.  At this, Trip felt himself beginning to rise to the occasion, so to speak.  His knees seemed suddenly weak, all of a sudden, and he leaned against Jon for support.

At this, Jon turned off the water, led him out of the stall.  Trip allowed Jon to dry him off and then lead him out of the bathroom.

Apparently, however, the bed was too far away for what Jon had in mind.  He was kissed again, hard, and the next thing he knew, Jon had him lying on the floor.  Trip lay there, watched as Jon knelt beside him, placed his hand on Trip's legs.  "Spread them," his lover ordered, and Trip happily complied.

A few minutes later, Trip found himself lying on the floor, whimpering, his legs spread brazenly from east to west, with Jon in between, busily doing things to him that were causing him to make frantic little sounds, deep in his throat.  "Oh, Jon ... please ..."

Jon didn't answer.  At least, not directly.  Instead, Trip found himself arching his back and moaning.  Again.  Jon did something particularly outrageous with his tongue and Trip cried aloud.

Archer looked at his young lover with satisfaction. Trip was right on the edge, which was exactly where Archer wanted him to be.  He drew a slow hand down Trip's chest and stomach, and Trip whimpered in reply.  Archer wasn't sure if it was a lingering after-effect, due to all the aphrodisiacs that Trip had been forced to ingest, or whether Trip had always been like this, but Archer found him to be amazingly sensual and tactile.  Another touch brought another whimpering moan.

He sat up and back.  Trip looked at him with eyes that were drowsy with pleasure.  "Something wrong?" he asked in a thick, furry voice. 

Archer looked around, saw his desk.  A slow smile spread across his face.  "Nothing," he replied.  He stood, his own arousal evident, and pulled Trip to his feet, kissed him.  He indicated the desk with a nod.  "Remember what you said the other day?"  Trip nodded.  "You game?"

For an answer, Trip walked over to the desk, leaned against it, gave Archer his trademark mischievous grin.  "Well," he asked impudently, "I am.  What about you?"

"Just a minute," Archer replied.  He hurried over to the bed, returned with the lube gel. 

He grabbed Trip, kissed him roughly and passionately.  If Trip didn't respond in kind, he was going to back off.  Immediately.  But Trip kissed him back with equal force and fervor.    

Then, without saying a word, Trip turned, bent over so that he was resting on the desktop, his hands gripping the edge.

Archer was still hesitant.  The last time they had done it this way was on Tasumi.  Was this too soon for Trip?  "You sure?"

"Do I look like I'm not sure?" Trip demanded.

"Trip, maybe – " Archer began.

"Shut up!" Trip ordered.  He added, "You know what I want."

Archer mentally shrugged.  What the hell.  Using generous amounts of the gel, he positioned himself and entered Trip.  His lover moaned with mingled pleasure and pain.  "Trip – you okay?"

"Oh, God, Jon ... please ..."

"You want me to stop?"

Trip's hands clenched the desk.  "Stop teasing me, goddammit!"

Archer decided to take that as a "no".  He began to thrust into Trip, and moaned himself.  He reached, took Trip in hand, and began stroking his lover in time with his own thrusts.  "Oh, you feel good," he groaned.

"You, too," Trip managed to pant in agreement.

"More?"

"What the hell do you think?"

He continued, and now Trip was crying out.  That was another thing Archer had learned about him; Trip tended to be rather noisy.  He thought abstractedly that more soundproofing of their quarters might prove to be a good idea. 

"Harder," Trip cried.  "Faster!"  Between Jon inside of him and Jon manipulating him, he was caught in a white-hot ecstasy that was sharpening, building, intensifying.  Jon complied with his pleas, and Trip found himself gripping the edge of the desk, whimpering and moaning.  He heard Jon groan, and knew that both of them were at the point of no return.  Jon stiffened, cried out, and Trip felt him come.  Jon's hand never slowed, though, and a moment later, Trip joined him as his own climax crashed into him, and he let out a rebel yell that he was sure they probably heard three systems back.  He didn't care right now, though.

He groaned, and lay exhausted on the desk top.  Jon withdrew, then gently pulled him up, turned him around, and put his arms around him, making Trip feel warm and protected.  He sighed in satisfaction.  Very gently, Jon kissed him.  "Let's get you back to bed," he said tenderly.

"Oh, now you remember we have a bed," was Trip's response.  But he allowed Jon to lead him back to their bed.  Despite himself, he yawned.  "Think Phlox would consider that 'moderate'?" he asked as he crawled into bed.

Archer followed, pulled the covers up over both of them, dislodging Porthos, who had been watching from the bed.  The beagle responded with an affronted yelp, and skulked off to his own bed to sulk for a while.  Archer smiled at Trip, and Trip smiled drowsily back. 

"Do you really care?" Archer asked him.

"No, not really."  He looked at Archer.  "You staying?"

"Yeah.  An afternoon nap sounds like just the thing."

Trip nodded, and Archer opened his arms.  "Come here, you."  Trip happily obeyed, laying his head on Archer's chest, draping an arm around his waist, and slipping one leg between both of Archer's.  Archer, enjoying the feel of flesh on flesh, wrapped his arms around Trip, held him close.  He stroked Trip's back, and the younger man wriggled lazily in response.

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

"Well, at least now you're tired because you've been busy.  Not because you can't sleep."

"That's true."  Trip yawned again, closed his eyes."

"How are the dreams?"

Trip reopened his eyes at that, and frowned, considering the question.  "I still have nightmares, if that's what you're asking.  But not as often."  He sighed.  "I guess that's an improvement."

"From two, three times a night?  I'd say so.  You've come a long way, you know?"

Trip was not entirely convinced.  "You think?"

Archer kissed him.  "No, I don't think.  I know."

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