Title: Until Your Touch
Author: Pretzelduck
Author's e-mail: [email protected]
Author's URL: http://www.geocities.com/pretzelduck
Date: Posted to EntSTSlash 04/28/2003
Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity, Tim Ruben, and WWOMB
Fandom: Star Trek:
Category: Slash
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Pairing: Archer/Reed
Main character(s): Archer, Reed
Summary: Malcolm can't seem to say what he wants to say.
Warnings: n/a
Series: n/a
Sequel to: n/a
Spoilers: n/a
Disclaimer: Guess what?
I don't own the Star Trek franchise.
Author's Notes: The following story contains excessive fluff. Why? Because.
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It's taken me a long while to get here. And now that I am here, I'm scared out of my mind. Fear is something, I suppose, that as an armory officer, I shouldn't be admitting to. But the list of things I shouldn't be doing became irrelevant the moment he came into my life. Since we became lovers. One by one, the rules I had used to define my life were altered. Or disappeared altogether.
It should be easier than this. I am a well-trained officer. I am perfectly capable of stringing words together into sentences.
"Jon?"
He turns at the sound of my voice. For a moment, I see the familiar look of wonderment before he smiles, expectantly, at me. The trace of awe still surprises me. It appears every time I say his first name. It's almost like, for an instant, he can't believe I'm really saying it. There's the perfect example. One of my fallen rules would be against the familiarity of using my superior officer's first name. Now it's usually the first thing out of my mouth in the morning and the last thing at night.
"I...um...er..."
Because I'm focusing so much on my incoherent stuttering, I don't notice that Jon has gotten up from the desk and sat down next to me on the bed. So much for being a well-trained armory officer.
"What's wrong, Malcolm?"
Jon puts his hand on my shoulder and starts to gently run his thumb back and forth across the front of it. That's all he does, though. Gives me soft reassurance while he waits patiently.
"I...um...er...Nothing."
I think I hear a muted snort of disbelieve but it's hard to tell because I'm distracted by Jon. He's moving up to the head of the bed and propping himself up against the pillows. Spreading his legs, he pats the bed in front of him. I can feel his eyes watching me as I slide along the bed and position myself between his legs. Perhaps he thinks I injured myself somehow...he gingerly wraps his arms around me and pulls me back against his chest.
The feel of his body against mine is something I've slowly grown accustomed to. Another rule that has gone by the wayside is the one against physical contact. The number of times I was held by either of my parents can be counted on a single hand. But Jon is always touching me. Even from the beginning...from the times of nothing beyond superior and subordinate...his hand was on my shoulder or his fingers brushed the back of my neck.
Our first night together, we didn't have sex. Instead, he laid me down on his bed and rolled me to my side. Jon laid down behind me, pulled me close, and simply held me. With his hands caressing my chest and his voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear, I eventually relaxed. Every touch was a reminder that I was safe... that he wouldn't hurt me... that he cared. I returned the favor the following night, holding him until he fell asleep. I think that was even more comforting. Listening to his breathing slowly even out, I was amazed that he felt as safe in my arms as I did in his.
"Malcolm?"
His voice is trembling; I've scared him with my silence. That just won't do. Leaning forward, I pull myself out of his embrace and turn around so I'm facing him, kneeling.
Worry is all over his face. His forehead is slightly bunched but the concern and fear is easiest to see in his hazel eyes. Reaching out, I run my fingers along his jaw and my thumb across his lips. At my touch, the apprehension slowly slides away and the words I've had such a difficulty saying slide through my lips.
"I love you."
I'm not quite sure what kind of reaction I expected. The shocked look on his face and the wetness brimming in his eyes was definitely not it, though. I have no idea how to handle this. Jon looks like he's going to cry. Because I told him that I love him. Was this not the right time? Doesn't he feel the same way? I thought he did... my instincts said he did. I thought he was waiting until I said it first... part of him being so patient... not wanting to push me away.
"Malcolm..."
I hardly have time to lift my head before his lips are pressing against mine. There's urgency in the kiss, a barely restrained passion I've never felt from him before. He pulls away but only enough so we can see each other's eyes. The beginnings of tears are still there.
"Please don't..." I don't know what to do with a teary-eyed Jon. The next words out of my mouth startle me. It's something I meant to keep to myself. "I've never said that before..."
Almost instantly, his eyes go wide in surprise. One of his hands is running through my hair and he places a soft kiss on my cheek. "Never?"
Is that really that odd? I'm embarrassed all of a sudden. I can feel my cheeks start to blush as I nod in response to his question.
"Oh..." There's a reverent tone to his voice, laced with an undercurrent of sadness. Why would he be sad? Unless he doesn't...
"I'm sorry, Jon. I shouldn't have said that." I try to pull away but he doesn't let me. His hands are hanging on to my upper arms; their sheer strength keeping me in place.
"You shouldn't have... What are you talking about?"
My voice is barely above a whisper. "You sounded sad."
Jon leans his forehead against mine. His breath tickles the hair on my cheek. "I love you, Malcolm."
I jerk my head away; my eyes searching his. He loves me? I was right? "Then why..."
"I'm sad for you. I'm sad because you've never said those words before. To me or anyone else."
I kiss him lightly on the lips. "I love you. I may not have a great deal of experience with it but I know how I feel about you."
One of his hands comes off my arms and moves to press against my back. Jon pulls me forward and down, adjusting us so I'm tucked against his side. His shoulder and chest make the most comfortable pillow.
"My father once told me that there is one person that we're meant to be with. It doesn't matter how long it takes you to find them as long as you do. You're my one, Malcolm."
I snuggle in closer to his side. I can't help it. The compulsion is part of some mushy aspect of myself I didn't know existed. "And you're mine."
I suppose that there is one rule of the Reed way of life I don't intend on breaking. Loyalty. A constant and unwavering devotion to my duty, my ship, and now, my love.
-fin-