Gigi Sinclair

"Anemia?" Malcolm repeated, looking at Phlox because it was infinitely less embarrassing than looking at Jonathan.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Phlox agreed amiably. "Easily treated, I assure you. It is often caused by an iron deficiency. Have you been eating properly?" Malcolm shrugged, and earned himself a censorious shake of the head. "Really, Lieutenant, you must take better care of yourself. When, for example, was the last time you consumed a significant amount of protein?"

Jonathan coughed suddenly, and Phlox's attention was diverted, if only momentarily.

"It is fortunate that you were not alone when you lost consciousness, Lieutenant. How lucky that you and the captain were in a late-night meeting at the time."

Jonathan cleared his throat, and Malcolm glanced over to see him blushing. It was clear from his tone that Phlox didn't believe the story Jonathan had given him. Malcolm couldn't blame the doctor. It was pretty unlikely, to say the least, that he and the captain would be going over weaponry at 0130 in Jonathan's quarters, in civilian clothes. Clothes which had, in both of their cases, obviously been hastily thrown on.

But the normally curious Denobulan didn't seem inclined to question them. He gave Malcolm a vial of pills and another lecture, and Malcolm was grateful for that. So grateful, he planned to give Phlox a little extra time on the shooting range, as soon as possible.

Provided of course, that Malcolm didn't die of embarrassment before the night was out.

***

Jonathan Archer was either an expert at seduction, or the most clueless man Malcolm had ever met. Either way, he'd had Malcolm's interest from the very start. When, months ago now, Jonathan had invited him to breakfast in the captain's mess, then risked his life to save Malcolm on the hull, Malcolm began to think that maybe they could be something more than just captain and grudging subordinate.

When Malcolm got them into trouble over the lost communicator, and Jonathan not only stood by him but offered to give up his life for Malcolm's, Malcolm felt the beginnings of a serious crush.

By the time Malcolm rescued Jonathan from the mines at Rura Penthe, he was completely in love and would have gladly climbed over his father's scandalized, infirm body-and a good many other impediments—for the chance to take Jonathan to bed.

Only Jonathan, who up until then had been flirting like a schoolgirl, suddenly didn't seem so inclined to go. It had taken weeks of platonic dinners, water polo matches, and other strategic tactics on Malcolm's part to convince him they could be great together.

Tonight, though, Malcolm had finally succeeded. After a lengthy conversation during which Jonathan said he didn't want to force Malcolm to compromise his principles, and Malcolm said every principle needed a bit of a rethink now and then, Jonathan kissed him. This progressed to more kissing and, when Malcolm unfastened Jonathan's jeans and kneeled in front of him, Jonathan said: "Oh God, Malcolm," but made no attempt to stop him.

Malcolm did that all by himself.

He felt dizzy as he reached into Jonathan's boxers, but he'd been feeling a little under the weather for days, and he wasn't about to let that interfere with this. Unfortunately, it wasn't up to him. The moment he freed Jonathan's cock, the very body part he'd been craving, the world went black. When Malcolm opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor, a concerned, more-or-less fully clothed Jonathan assuring him: "The doc's on his way, Malcolm. It's OK."

Of course, it wasn't. At the sight of Jonathan's genitals, he'd gone into a swoon, like some kind of Victorian virgin. Never mind that it was simply a case of bad-no, excruciating-timing. Malcolm would never live this down. He wouldn't have been surprised if Jonathan never wanted to see him again.

Of course, thoroughly disgusted as Malcolm knew he must be, Jonathan was still a gentleman. Phlox released Malcolm, after reminding both of them, seemingly innocently, that their STD-prevention capsules had expired the previous month and they should come in for another if they were planning on engaging in sexual intercourse in the near future.

Thanking Phlox for the reminder, the blushing captain insisted on walking Malcolm back to his quarters, despite Malcolm's repeated assurances that he was fine, and his, unspoken, desire to crawl into bed and die of humiliation, the sooner the better.

When they arrived at Malcolm's cabin, Malcolm turned and said, as abruptly as he could manage: "Thank you, sir. I can handle it from here."

"Phlox told me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm sure that didn't mean…" Malcolm trailed off when he realized he didn't know what Jonathan was expecting to do. Watch him shower? Tuck him in? Sleep with him?

"I take my responsibilities very seriously, Malcolm."

"I know you do, sir."

Jonathan winced a little. "Then let's get you settled."

Malcolm took as long as was humanly possible in the bathroom, hoping that Jonathan would give up and leave. He didn't. When Malcolm emerged, wearing a T-shirt and boxers, Jonathan was still there, sitting on Malcolm's bed and looking concerned. "I think I'm settled," Malcolm tried again, sliding into bed. Jonathan moved over but didn't get up.

"Malcolm, did I ever tell you about my very brief affair with Trip?"

"No." And if this was designed to make him feel better, it wasn't working. Malcolm turned his back to Jonathan and closed his eyes tightly, hoping the man might leave if he pretended to be asleep. Strange that just hours earlier, that would have been the last thing Malcolm wanted.

"It lasted exactly four minutes. We were both drunk out of our minds. I think we'd had about three kegs of beer between us. I got his pants down, took one look at his…" Malcolm heard a smile in Jonathan's voice. "Meat and potatoes, and puked all over his bed." Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at the wall. "Of course, he'd already passed out by then. But it was a mood killer we never recovered from. That was the end of our sexual relationship."

Malcolm rolled over and looked at him. Jonathan smiled, then put a hesitant hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Compared to that, fainting is nothing. Trust me."

Malcolm sighed. "It was embarrassing." And Jonathan being polite about it wasn't doing much to ease that embarrassment.

"Actually, I found it kind of flattering. I can't say anyone else has reacted that way to me." Jonathan looked down at him. "How do you feel now?"

"I'm fine." Except for the crushing humiliation. "A little tired," he amended, when Jonathan gave him a look of disbelief.

"Then go to sleep. I'll stay right here."

"I don't know…"

"I thought that was the plan for tonight." Jonathan looked alarmed. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"No, but…" He couldn't imagine how Jonathan could possibly want to continue this now.

"Then what's the problem?" Jonathan grinned and the mattress dipped as he, still fully clothed, lay down beside Malcolm.

"Nothing, I guess." Malcolm admitted. Jonathan couldn't possibly be serious, could he? Malcolm had effectively ruined what was supposed to be their first, magical, wonderful time together. If he hadn't exactly been chomping at the bit before, Malcolm thought, then Jonathan certainly couldn't be that enthusiastic about persuing a personal relationship now.

But Jonathan seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing. "Good." Jonathan sighed and put an arm around Malcolm. "By the way, are you free tomorrow night?"

"I think so," Malcolm admitted, allowing himself a small smile.

"Then let's try again. Although," he added, putting his head beside Malcolm's. "We should probably have a meal together first." He considered this a moment. "But no beer."