Gigi Sinclair

"Spores?" Archer shifted uncomfortably on the hard sickbay chair, wishing he'd brought his cushion down from the ready room. "It was caused by spores?"

"Not exactly, Captain." Phlox leaned forward, clearly excited by his discovery. "More like dust created from microscopic particles of tissue. Skin, hair, that sort of thing. Humans shed similar particles the time. It's really most fascinating." Indeed.

"So you're telling me," Archer repeated, just to be clear, "That the Trojanian away team toured my ship, shed their skin, which just happened to be the alien equivalent of rhino horn, and left us feeling…" From what T'Pol had told him, he was way past the euphemism stage. But he still had his pride, so he finished: "In the mood?"

"It was by no means deliberate, Captain. Like I said, humans do it all the time…Rhino horn?" He got a curious look on his face, and Archer immediately regretted bringing it up. There were bigger things on his mind, at the moment, than giving Phlox a lesson in human mythology. "People used to think it was an aphrodisiac."

"Rhino horn." Phlox smiled thoughtfully. "Of course. Horny!"

"Excuse me?"

"As you know, Captain, I'm fascinated by Earth etymology, particularly as it relates to the reproductive processes."

"Of course." Just a week ago, Phlox had asked if he, Archer, knew the origin of the expression 'How's it hanging?' And had then proceeded to enlighten him, in front of several smirking female crewmembers.

"Commander Tucker often uses a phrase that has been most puzzling to me. 'Horny as a cat on a hot tin roof.' Most perplexing, I'm sure you'll agree, but it's much more comprehensible now that I know about the rhino horn. I shall have to conduct further research, of course, to determine if there is a link between the two, and the tin roof is still quite puzzling, but…thank you, Captain."

"You're welcome." Archer rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "But getting back to the Trojanian skin flakes…"

"Of course. The Trojanians had no way of knowing they would affect the crew like this. From what I've read, humans are the first species to react to the particles like," he inclined his head graciously to the Captain, "felines atop thermally- enhanced metallurgical alloys. Which would explain why neither Sub-commander T'Pol nor I were affected." The doctor sounded a trifle wistful about that. He wasn't the only one, Archer thought. He personally would have paid good money to see a Vulcan in the throes of what the rest of them had suffered. If suffered was the right word.

"It's a shame, really," Phlox continued, getting a mental 'Too damn right' from Archer in response. "From a purely scientific standpoint, it would have been fascinating to feel such uncontrollable lust. It's not something I've ever experienced personally."

"And you've got how many wives?" Standing up awkwardly, Archer patted Phlox on the shoulder. "But at least you've found the cause. Excellent work, doctor." Phlox smiled and Archer couldn't resist it. "Of course, if you think it would help your research, we could always invite the Trojanians back…"

***

Two days before Archer enlightened Phlox on ancient human sexual aids, he escorted a party of Trojanian diplomats around the ship. They were a friendly bunch, from a large, oddly shaped planet known as Trojan XL (which had led to many jokes about wooden horses from the more classical crewmembers.) Archer had spent a pleasant few hours with them, showing off 'Enterprise' the way he enjoyed. They dined with the senior officers—the Trojanians were especially enamoured of the oysters, which were unheard of on their world—and returned to their own planet at about 2300 hours. Shortly after, Archer went to bed and woke up eight hours later with the hardest erection he'd had since he was a teenager. Which surprised him, because he hadn't even been dreaming about Lieutenant Reed.

He was surprised again at the morning briefing, when he looked down the table to see Trip licking his lips feverishly. Archer, who had suffered a few chapped lips in his time, was about to ask if the climate controls in his friend's cabin were broken, when he saw that the lip licking was directed at Ensign Sato, who was simpering back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Archer asked, when the rest of the crew, including the communications officer, had been dismissed.

"What?" Archer raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that. You're on duty, for God's sake. Keep a lid on it." Trip furrowed his eyebrows.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'd appreciate it…" The rest of the sentence was lost to Archer. He was too busy wondering why, in all the years he'd known Trip, he'd never before noticed how handsome the man was. Rugged, almost, especially when he was bitching about something.

"Jon?" Archer snapped himself out of it with a shake of his head. Not soon enough, apparently. "Why were you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Trip narrowed his eyes.

"Like I was a certain weapons officer asking you to take a look at my phaser." Archer frowned.

"I told you not to mention that."

"It's kind of hard not to." Trip's expression changed as he glanced down. "Jesus, Jon, speaking of kind of hard…" Archer looked down to see that, somehow, a large iron bar had lodged itself in his general crotch area.

"You're no better." Trip looked at his matching hard-on.

"It's not my fault. It's damn Hoshi. She's got eyes like frigging chocolate pudding. And her mouth…" He trailed off, lips parting in imaginative ecstasy.

"Like a beautiful, fragile rosebud," the words were out of Archer's mouth before he knew what he was saying. But the more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Ensign Sato was gorgeous. He must have been blind not to notice before. Trip nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah. And her tits…"

"God, her tits…" Archer groaned just thinking about them. It was fortunate he did, because the sound was enough to jar them both out of their reverie. He cleared his throat and tried not to look at his friend, who had developed a sudden, intense interest in the floor.

"We'd better get back to work, Commander."

"Absolutely, Captain."

Archer spent the rest of the day feeling like the lone nerd at a high school makeout party. Everywhere he turned, people were all over each other. He found two engineering ensigns locked in a lascivious embrace in a turbo lift and a weapons officer and a helmsman grinding together against a computer, which was protesting that no such hard drive could be found. The lunchtime scene in the mess hall would have made Caligula blush. Archer tried to make an announcement requesting the crew do their best to restrain themselves, but it was difficult because he was entranced by the muscular yet feminine security officer standing at the other end of the bridge, winking at him. It wasn't until 1600 hours, however, when he caught Trip and Hoshi in flagrante in the briefing room, that he decided to send everyone back to their quarters until Phlox could figure out what was wrong with them. Beyond the obvious.

Sub-commander T'Pol, to no one's surprise, seemed unaffected by the epidemic of lust, so she and Archer stayed on the bridge with a skeleton crew who spent most of their time trying to jump each other's bones. Archer's discomfort was particularly acute. While he, like the rest of the crew, seemed unable to control himself around fellow human beings (or even non-humans, as he'd discovered when he spent an excessively long time caressing the computer console), he was still their commanding officer. His crew expected him to lead them through a crisis, not spend it wondering if Vulcans had green nipples.

Apart from one or two minor slips and the incident with the computer, Archer thought he had handled himself with utmost decorum. At 2130, when the crisis had not worsened and his groin felt like it had been trampled by elephants, he hobbled over to T'Pol and asked her to take charge.

"Certainly, Captain."

"But inform me immediately if anything out of the ordinary occurs." He managed a small, painful smile. "It's been an unusual day."

"Indeed, sir. I personally have witnessed four hundred and twelve violations of Starfleet's sexual harassment policy since I came on shift."

"Yes, well." He cleared his throat. "Under the circumstances, I think we can be forgiving. Not everyone has our self-control."

"Nearly one-quarter of which," T'Pol continued, her voice flat and unemotional as always, "Were committed by you personally."

"What?" Archer's heart beat faster. Which did nothing to help his other problem. "I don't remember…"

"Perhaps I have made a mistake," T'Pol admitted, although Archer knew that was as likely as Trip suddenly becoming a teetotaler. "But my memory has always been more than satisfactory."

"I know." Archer looked away. And saw the one remaining helmsman discreetly but vigorously taking matters into his own hands. So to speak.

"I can tell you what I think I remember, if you would like, sir." She did so without pausing for reply, listing Archer's transgressions like she was filing a report. "I came onto the bridge at 1357. At 1402, you leaned over the console and fondled Ensign Tyler's left breast. At 1404, you moved onto the right. At 1417, you requested that Mr. Mayweather 'send some of that delicious brown sugar' your way. At 1422, you called Commander Tucker to the bridge, asked him to sit on your lap, and informed him you were 'ten times as good as any alien bitch and wouldn't knock him up'. At 1436, you leaned against the main computer and asked about it's 'sign'. At 1447…"

"All right. Thank you, T'Pol, I think I get the idea." T'Pol nodded. Then, as Archer wondered how he would ever face anyone ever again, she continued, with more compassion than he would have thought her capable of:

"Of course, sir, it's a logical to assume that if partial amnesia is a symptom of your condition, no one else afflicted will remember what occurred, either." This comforted him for all of five seconds.

"But I can remember what everyone else did." The sight of Trip with his pants around his ankles and Hoshi against the table would haunt him for the rest of his life. T'Pol gazed at him impassively.

"Then perhaps my theory is flawed. My apologies, captain." Even as he died slowly and painfully of terminal embarrassment, Archer couldn't help notice how sexy the Sub-commander was when she was cold-hearted. He would have kept gazing, except that T'Pol interrupted: "Sir, I feel it is my duty to inform you that you are looking at me in a way which could be interpreted as inappropriate under Article 3, section four of Starfleet's 'Harassment Free Workplace' policy."

"My apologies, Sub-commander. I'll go to my quarters." He didn't move.

"Yes, sir."

"Although…" What the hell, he thought. It wasn't like he had to worry about humiliating himself any further in front of T'Pol. She'd already seen him ask Mayweather for some delicious brown sugar. "You wouldn't happen to know where Lieutenant Reed is, would you? I haven't seen him all day."

"Nor have I, sir." The pause was infinitesimal, but detectable none the less. "If you would like me to locate him for you…" "No!" Archer said, firmly and before he changed his mind. "Better not. I'm sure he's around somewhere. Good night, T'Pol."

"Sir." He was halfway off the bridge when he decided he had to ask.

"T'Pol, if you don't mind me asking, how did Commander Tucker react when I…" She looked blank. He coughed and clarified: "Sexually harassed him?" T'Pol considered this.

"I have been known to misinterpret human emotions, sir. But from what I understood, he seemed to be most…enthusiastic." Archer grinned. "Enthusiastic?"

"Yes, sir. I believe his exact words were…" she cleared her throat and repeated, with as much feeling as if she was reading off the co-ordinates of the nearest docking bay, "'Oh, yeah, big daddy, show me why you earned all those merit badges.'"

"Really."

"Then he barked."

"Barked? Why?"

"I am not a logical person to ask about the intricacies of the human mating ritual, Captain."

"Of course. My apologies."

"But if my observations are correct, you seemed to quite enjoy it at the time."

"I'm sure I did." Archer enjoyed it even more now. So what if he could never face his crew again and would probably have to leave the ship in disgrace at the next station. At least he had something to tease Trip about.

"It was most unfortunate that before things could progress, my console showed a minor engine problem that required the commander's immediate attention."

"Problem?" That got the smile off Archer's face. The last thing he needed with the crew in this state was something to go wrong with the ship. Jesus, if his experience with the computer was anything to go by, they'd flirt with it instead of fixing it.

"A false alarm, sir. I will request that my console be thoroughly inspected as soon as things return to normal." "I see." He did. And, when things got back to normal, he was going to put T'Pol in for a commendation. If he could ever work up the nerve to explain why she deserved one.

Archer stopped by sickbay before heading to his cabin. Phlox looked as excited as Archer had ever seen him, which likely had something to do with the two medical ensigns rolling around on one of the biobeds. They excited Archer, as well, especially when he realized they were both women.

"This is wonderful, Captain!" Phlox all but clapped his hands in glee. "What a splendid opportunity to observe the human libido in action." Archer did mental arithmetic to force his mind off the scene on the bed. He'd been doing it all day. If the epidemic lasted much longer, he'd end up with an advanced degree in quadratic algebra.

"Any clue as to what caused it?"

"Not yet. There seem to be no other symptoms, apart from the…"

"I know."

"Lieutenant McDonald did fracture his collarbone, although he seemed unable to remember how. And I have treated several people for sprained wrists." There was a scream from the bed and Archer couldn't remember 42 divided by 7. With a hurried:

"Keep up the good work, doctor," he left the sickbay before Phlox had the long-awaited opportunity to observe his captain's libido up close.

Archer was always grateful for small mercies, so, as he made his way to his cabin, he reflected on how lucky it was that only humans seemed to be affected by whatever was sweeping the ship. After a day like his, he couldn't have handled an evening of Porthos frantically humping his leg. Especially since Archer was very likely to hump back.

The first thing he noticed, when he walked into his cabin, was not the dozens of candles arranged around the room. Nor was it the soft jazz music playing on the sound system. It wasn't even the half-naked man lounging on his bed. No, in a move that Archer thought would probably cause him great chagrin for the rest of his life, the first thing he noticed was his dog, fast asleep in the corner, his legs moving as he dreamed. Much as he loved Porthos, though, the sight of Malcolm Reed in red silk boxer shorts and a black silk vest quickly diverted Archer's attention.

"Lieutenant Reed," Archer attempted to sound firm, cool and in control. Unfortunately, his voice cracked.

"Finally. I've been waiting hours." Reed stood up, a smile quite unlike any Archer had seen on his face.

"How did you get in?" That's right, Jon, Archer commended himself. Get straight to the important questions.

"Overrode the door. Weapons aren't the only thing I'm interested in." He pushed Archer up against the wall. "Or the only thing I'm good at." Archer felt a wet, slithering sensation in his left ear. For a moment, he was worried this might be something serious—his commanders, devotees of old science fiction magazines, had repeatedly warned him about mind-controlling alien brain worms—but it was only Reed's tongue. Which, upon further reflection, Archer determined was much nicer than an alien brain worm, but not much more comforting.

"Breaking and entering is…is against r-regulations." Archer gulped as the tongue moved down his neck. "I'll have to discipline you." Reed arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, please." He planted a wet, lingering kiss on the captain's lips, then slid down his body until he was kneeling at Archer's feet. "You know, Jon, I'm not just an expert at blowing… things…" He brought his mouth to Archer's crotch. A thin layer of Starfleet-issued material was the only thing separating Reed from Archer's thirtieth or fortieth (he'd lost count somewhere along the line, not surprising now he knew he couldn't remember half of what he'd done) erection of the day. "Up." Archer gasped, trying not to waste the moment wondering if this was desecration of Starfleet property. It was like every wet dream he'd had since boarding the ship—including the part about desecrating Starfleet property—but it had to end. Because it wasn't really what Reed wanted.

"Stop it, Malcolm." If there were three less pleasant words in the English language, Archer didn't want to hear them. "Everyone's come down with something."

"I'd rather go down on someone," was the muffled reply from below.

"But you're not feeling yourself." Reed looked up, lips swollen and hair disarranged. Archer gulped again and focused on his sleeping beagle. It was a good thing, too. If he'd been looking into the lieutenant's eyes when he said:

"No. I did that while I was waiting for you," Archer would have lost it right away.

"Malcolm, seriously." It was the hardest thing Archer had ever done, but he forced himself to do it anyway. He pulled Reed to his feet. "People aren't acting normally. I came on to Trip, for God's sake."

"Commander Tucker?" The smile evaporated and Reed's eyes darkened.

"I guess so. And Mayweather. And T'Pol. And the computer." The smile came back, and Archer realized he could quite happily spend the rest of eternity looking at Malcolm Reed's smile. Since that was unlikely, and since this was probably the last time he would be allowed to, Archer placed his hand on Reed's cheek. "I want you." And the hell with it if Reed remembered that. "But I refuse to take advantage of you." This earned him another kiss, although it was really more like a mouth-to-mouth assault. As soon as Reed pulled away, Archer found he missed him.

"Does that mean," the lieutenant asked, still smiling, "That I can take advantage of you?"

It lasted forever and it was over far too quickly. "Oh, God, Malcolm. You're…" Amazing. Wonderful. Incredible. Brilliant. Surprising. Especially surprising. The man who never drew attention to himself unless it was absolutely necessary, and often not even then, was, as Archer had discovered to his great delight, a screamer in bed. Also a scratcher, a moaner, a crier, and, as Reed himself had gasped in reference to Archer, a bloody genius. Over the course of three hours, they tried positions that made the Karma Sutra look like the Missionary Guide to Straight-Up Sex and broke several Starfleet regulations regarding the moving of the Earth and neighbouring planets. It was, quite simply, the best Archer had ever had. And that included the post-graduation weekend he'd spent with the Triple-Breasted Whore of Eroticon 6.

Of course, Archer knew that it would have been perfect, even if Reed had been the worst lover ever and had fallen asleep halfway through. "I always knew you had it in you."

"Actually, it spent more time in you," Reed murmured into Archer's neck. "Quite unfair, now I think about it."

"Don't worry. We can rectify the situation tomorrow night." In Archer's dreams. Literally. Reed laughed and propped himself up on one elbow.

"You're a very naughty boy, Johnny." He brushed a strand of hair off Archer's sweat soaked forehead, then leaned down to kiss him. "But I love you anyway." Archer couldn't remember ever being more ecstatically happy in his life.

"I love you, too."

"I know." With a final kiss, Reed lay down, his head on Archer's chest. "Thank you."

Archer had been in love before, but never so completely, obsessively and inappropriately. Moony-eyed infatuation was fine, if you were an adolescent girl or a star-crossed, party-going youth of Verona. It was less fine if you were the esteemed leader of the Earth's first foray into deep space exploration. Archer knew he had to control himself, and, for a long time, he had. He had even progressed to the point where he was able to give Reed a hearty, manly slap on the back without being tempted to slide his hand a little lower. Then, he had the brilliant idea of giving the lieutenant a birthday party. And of talking to his family.

Smart and handsome was an attractive combination. Smart, handsome, needy and vulnerable, on the other hand, was lethal. As soon as he'd found out what a horrible life Reed really had, Archer gave up on his plans of self-control. He spent most of his time, when he wasn't seeking out new life and new civilizations or playing with his dog, imagining how wonderful it would be if he was the one to teach Reed about love. It was a scenario straight out of a cheap romance novel, but Archer hadn't cared about that. He also didn't care that regulations and T'Pol's beloved 'Harassment Free Workplace' policy would forever prevent him from acting on his desire. And he really didn't care, at the moment anyway, that it had taken nothing short of a scenario from a pornographic science-fiction novel for his dream to be realized. All he cared about was Malcolm.

When he was almost asleep, Archer sneezed, eliciting a drowsy: "Bless you" from the man at his side. Archer kissed him again and, as he dropped off, had only one thought on his mind. Please, he begged silently, if there's any justice in the universe, please don't let me forget this.

He didn't. The next morning, Archer woke up alone but happy. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the memories, then took a deep breath and peeked under his sheet. He had never before been so excited to see himself unexcited.

When the captain arrived at the morning briefing, the rest of the officers had already assembled and were sitting in uncomfortable silence. Ensign Sato, Archer noticed with a smile, was looking at Trip like she was trying to remember where she'd seen him before, while Trip stared at the ceiling.

"How is everyone feeling this morning?" Archer looked over his assembled crewmen, trying not to let his eyes linger on Lieutenant Reed. It was difficult. Quite apart from everything else, Reed was the only person who had elected to stand (Archer could sympathize, but in the interests of decorum, lowered himself painfully into his chair anyway.) There was also a large and very prominent hickey on the lieutenant's neck. Archer couldn't think what had possessed him to leave such an obvious mark, but no one else seemed to notice. Indeed, the majority of the crew seemed to be slightly injured in one way or another.

After some, vaguely sheepish, mumbling from his officers, Archer continued:

"I assume that everyone is aware that something…out of the ordinary occurred yesterday. Dr. Phlox is attempting to find the cause." More embarrassed mumbling. Archer cleared his throat. "From what I understand, my comportment may have been particularly inappropriate given my position as your captain. I would like to offer a sincere apology to anyone I might have offended." He tried to encompass everyone—particularly poor Mayweather—in the apology, but he ended up staring at Reed. Who blushed and looked away. Archer dragged his eyes away from his lover and fixed them on his friend instead. "I would particularly like to apologize to Commander Tucker. Our friendship in no way excuses what I did to him, even if he did enjoy it." The look on Trip's face almost made up for the embarrassment on Reed's. And for the smirks on the faces of those other officers who had evidently been on the bridge the previous afternoon.

***

"Oh, there's no need to worry about the Trojanians returning, Captain." An hour after the briefing, Phlox looked up from where he had just finished noting his new insights into the word 'horny.' "In fact, it might be quite beneficial. I'm sure they would be very interested to know how they affect humans. And to know that we have a cure for it."

"A cure? Already?" Typical, Archer thought. If the Trojanian dust or whatever the hell it was had caused searing pain, or blindness, or some kind of weird parasitic infection, the cure would have taken decades to develop. But, naturally, anything that got Reed into his bed had to be done away with immediately.

"It's actually quite remarkable, Captain." Phlox beamed proudly. "By an amazing coincidence, I actually had the cure before I knew about the disease."

"Oh, yes?" Personal disappointment aside, Archer was interested. "How did that happen?" Phlox, of course, was only too glad to share the tale.

"A few weeks ago, Lieutenant Reed came to me suffering from a relapse in his allergies. He agreed to take part in an experimental study, so I gave him a new medication designed to eliminate the absorption of airborne allergens into the body."

"Which means what, exactly?"

"That Lieutenant Reed didn't inhale the Trojanian particles, and was consequently the only human on board who didn't suffer their ill-effects." Archer heard the words, but, for some reason, couldn't quite understand what they meant.

"You're saying that Lieutenant Reed didn't…He wasn't affected like the rest of us…"

"No. If the Trojanians return, all we have to do is give all crewmembers the same medication and we'll prevent another outbreak. Of course, that's rather disappointing for my research, but…" Phlox shrugged gallantly. "We clearly can't have a repeat of what happened yesterday." Or maybe, Archer thought, excitement mounting, they could. Phlox looked at him with concern. "Are you all right, Captain? Your breathing seems to have increased exponentially. And you appear to have suffered some injury to your lower back. Perhaps I should examine you."

"I'm fine. Once again, doctor, you've proven yourself to be an excellent physician and an invaluable member of our team. Thank you." He clapped Phlox on the shoulder and left the doctor beaming with pride.

Once he was out of sickbay, Archer wasn't sure where to go. He wandered aimlessly for a while. As he passed Engineering, he ran into Trip, who was still an unusual shade of pink.

"Listen, Jon, I'm going crazy here. You've got to tell me if I…" The pink turned to scarlet. "I mean, did we…"

"You owe Sub-commander T'Pol a very sincere thank you."

"What?"

"Actually, I'd buy her flowers. Or chocolates. Or Vulcan meditation candles or something."

"Jon…" Archer smiled.

"Relax. As far as I know, you're reputation as a ladies' man is still unquestionable." The relief on Trip's face was so acute it was almost insulting. So Archer added: "But I wouldn't be crossing paths with Ensign Sato anytime soon if I were you."

"Really?" Trip smirked. "Hoshi? That, I don't mind picturing."

"And Trip," Archer added, as he walked away. "Woof woof."

Eventually, Archer ended up at his cabin. It was almost lunchtime and, after the hours he'd put in yesterday, he decided he deserved a little break. He opened the door to see Lieutenant Reed, fully clothed this time, standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room.

"Hello." Archer wondered if his heartbeat was audible throughout the galaxy, or only in the nearest few solar systems.

"Sir." Reed stared at the carpet.

"Overriding doors again?" He smiled.

"My apologies, sir. I wanted to explain."

"No need, lieutenant." God, Archer thought, he hoped things really were as obvious as they seemed. If not, he had the feeling he was about to deliberately violate the 'Harassment- Free Workplace' policy.

"Please, Captain. I don't want you to think…" Archer didn't think. And Reed never got to finish his sentence. Seconds later, he was on his back on his captain's bed, with Archer's tongue in his mouth and his arms around Archer's waist.