Gigi Sinclair

"Malcolm!" Jonathan didn't know whether to be turned on or outraged when Malcolm burst into his ready room and, without any kind of preamble, pushed him up against the wall.

When Malcolm shoved his tongue down Jonathan's throat, the deciding vote was cast in favour of 'turned on.'

"What are you doing?" He gasped, when Malcolm backed off just enough to let Jonathan speak. This wasn't a purely altruistic move. Malcolm needed the distance to get at Jonathan's zipper, as Jonathan noticed when a cold breeze hit his suddenly exposed throat.

"What does it seem like?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking."

"Hm." Malcolm considered this, nibbling at Jonathan's neck and pushing his hands through the captain's hair. "Obviously, you haven't been paying close enough attention these past few months. I'm going to have to…" Jonathan groaned involuntarily as Malcolm's thigh slipped between his legs. "Re-educate you."

Well, Jonathan thought, what the hell. They were both, technically, on lunch break, although, as far as he knew, Malcolm hadn't taken a full lunch break since their first launch. Which meant, Jonathan determined as Malcolm's hands began to fondle his crotch like it was a particularly desirable phase pistol, that Malcolm had a whole bunch of time coming to him.

And time wasn't the only thing that was going to be coming to Malcolm. Jonathan gulped, his hands finding Malcolm's shoulders. Malcolm slid to his knees without removing Jonathan's uniform and began to desecrate Starfleet property with his mouth.

"Oh, God, Malcolm."

"Jonathan."

"Malcolm."

"Jonathan."

This scintillating discussion was interrupted by the sudden, very unwelcome, chime of the door.

"Shit."

Malcolm looked up. "Can't you pretend you're not in?"

"Malcolm. The entire bridge saw us come in here."

"Damn." Wiping his mouth, Malcolm stood. Glancing down, Jonathan stepped behind his desk in the hopes of concealing the problem in his crotch. It was all he could do. It would look suspicious if it took them five minutes to open the door.

Glancing over at Malcolm, who looked as composed as if they'd just been discussing phase alignments, Jonathan said: "Come in."

Trip and T'Pol entered, bickering. "Captain, would you please tell the Sub-commander that just because we've got a bunch of new folks on board, that doesn't mean we need to redo everyone's schedules and humans tend to get real pissy when you screw with their days off…" He trailed off and stared at Jonathan. "Jeez, Captain, what the hell happened to you?"

"What?"

T'Pol blinked. "I believe Commander Tucker is referring to your…unorthodox uniform."

"And what's with your hair?"

Jonathan glanced at his reflection in the nearest darkened monitor. His uniform was unbuttoned like a gigolo's, and his hair was almost artfully disarranged.

"Hey," Trip laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd have said the two of you were…" The laugh trailed off as Trip obviously considered the possibility he was deriding. "I mean, you're not…right?"

While he grappled with that one, T'Pol glanced between Jonathan and Malcolm, her expression neutral but her eyes calculating. Jonathan felt a surge of panic, and looked at Malcolm for help.

He gave it. Smoothly and without missing a beat, Malcolm explained: "It's the captain's new look."

"New look?" Trip frowned.

"Yes!" Jonathan could have kissed him, if that hadn't been the reason they were in this mess to begin with. "That's right. I was just telling Malcolm, I thought it was time for a change. You know, with the new mission and all."

There was a moment of silence as Trip and T'Pol considered this, and Malcolm and Jonathan waited to see if they were going to buy it. T'Pol spoke first.

"On Vulcan, it is also the custom to commemorate a life change with a slight alteration in personal appearance. I had not thought to make such an alteration at this time, but perhaps I should follow your example."

"I could probably use a haircut, too," Trip admitted. "Good idea, Captain. Now, about the schedules…"

"I'm on my lunch break, Trip," Jonathan interrupted. "Get back to me in an hour or so."

When they'd gone, Jonathan turned back to Malcolm. "My new look? Thanks, Malcolm. Now I'm going to have to go around like this for the rest of the mission." He gestured at the open collar and dishevelled hair, but gave up on his attempt to sound irritated when a slow, sexy and decidedly dangerous smile spread across Malcolm's mouth.

"Works for me, love."