Gigi Sinclair

"Look, Jon, I really don't think this is such a great idea."

"Why not?" I looked at the strange metal object in front of me. Although a variation had been used by my father's generation, these contraptions had been obsolete before I was born, and we had never had one. The only place I had seen them was in museums.

"You've never driven a car."

"I had a flitter."

"That's not the same. All you do with a flitter is tell it where you want to go and it takes you. This is…different."

"Trip." I looked at him. "In six weeks, I'm going to command humanity's first warp five ship. I think I can manage a…" I glanced at the back of the machine. "Cam-rye."

"It's a Camry, Jon. A fully restored 2006 Toyota Camry. And my dad will kill me if anything happens to it. You wouldn't want 'Enterprise' to lose her chief engineer, would you?" He gave me his most dashing smile, the one he always thought was irresistible. Well, two could play at that game.

I moved around until I was pressed up against Trip's back. "All right. We don't have to drive it. It's got quite a spacious back seat, hasn't it?" Trip tried to turn around, but I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the car despite Trip's admonitions that nobody ever touched it, on pain of death. I wasn't afraid of Junior Tucker. He was as harmless as Trip. They even shared the same taste in clothes. "I've heard some pretty interesting stories about what people used to do in these things."

I flicked my tongue into his ear. Trip closed his eyes and moaned. I placed one hand on his shoulder and slowly ran it down his arm, enjoying the feel of his bulging, relatively new, muscles. He'd only started seriously working out when Admiral Forrest had joked that Trip had better not spend too much time in zero-g, or he was likely to disappear entirely. Trip didn't take kindly to muscle mass jokes.

When I reached his left hand, I stroked his fingers, insinuating my own between them. Eight years together had given me a pretty good idea of what distracted Trip the most, and I nibbled on his neck while I gently wrapped my fingers around the key ring clasped in his hand. When I had a good grip on it, I yanked my hand away, taking the keys with it, and ran around to the other side of the car.

"You son-of-a-bitch."

"Now, now, Trip." I inserted the key into the metal circle and turned. There was a clicking noise, and I pulled the handle. To my great satisfaction, the door opened. "Keep that up, and I won't take you with me."

"The hell you will." He pulled ineffectually on the other door. "Open this right now." I didn't know how to, but I wasn't about to admit that. I examined the instrument panel, which looked far more complicated than the one on my first shuttle. "Push the button on the door." I looked at my door and pushed a button. All four windows opened. Rolling his eyes, Trip reached in the open window and unlocked his door.

"Five minutes, Jon. That's it." He sat beside me and pulled a wide, belt-like thing from the wall. It looked like part of a security harness, like the ones in a flitter, but apparently, it wasn't automated.

Thoroughly enjoying the novelty of it, I copied his actions and fastened my own security harness. He scowled at me. "And if you put so much as a scratch on this thing, I'm breaking up with you."

"Good deal, honey."

"Put the key in the ignition."

I looked at him blankly, and he pointed to a slot. I slid the key in and turned. The engine roared to life. "I think I could get used to this."

"Right." Trip reached for the lever between us and pulled it back until it clicked. "Now, put your foot very gently on the right pedal." I glanced down and did as he instructed. The dials in front of me swung to the right as the car shot backwards and Trip said:

"Holy shit, Jon. Hit the brake!" I pushed the other pedal, and the car jerked to a halt, nearly severing my neck on the harness.

"I can see why these things were banned," I commented lightly. Trip was pale and panting like he'd just run a marathon. Or had a marathon session of something other than running.

"I said gently!"

"You always say that, honey. You never mean it." Trip unfastened his harness and opened his door. I frowned. "Where are you going?" Silently, he walked around the front of the car and opened my door.

"Get out."

"Oh, come on, Trip. I was just having a bit of fun…"

"Fun? You think it'll be fun when we're six feet under and A.G. Robinson gets the command of 'Enterprise' after all?" He shook his head. "If you want a ride, I'll take you." I looked at him warily. He sighed heavily. "Scout's honour."

"You weren't a Scout."

"Little League benchwarmer's honour, then."

Reluctantly, I got out of the car, copping a feel of Trip's ass as I went, just to show him there were no hard feelings. Yet, anyway. I went around the car as Trip adjusted his seat and fussed with the mirror. I fastened the harness and, glancing behind him, Trip drove away.

Trip's parents lived on an acreage on the outskirts of a small town. The little streets around there weren't equipped for flitters, so there was no traffic. Which turned out to be a very good thing.

I didn't have anyone to compare him to, of course, but it seemed like Trip was a good driver. He checked his mirror a lot, anyway, and he held the "steering wheel" (he corrected me when I called it a throttle) casually, his strong hands sliding on the leather. I couldn't help but be reminded of some other things Trip liked to slide his hands across. One of those things was enjoying Trip's display very much indeed.

We drove for about ten minutes before Trip stopped beside yet another field. He glanced over at me. "So, what do you think?"

I hadn't been thinking much of anything, not since I realized Trip driving an antiquated car was just as sexy as Trip studying quantum physics, Trip playing the harmonica, and Trip washing the dishes. I leaned over, the "gear shift" digging into my thigh, and kissed him hard. He returned the pressure, putting his arms around my neck and winding one of his hands into my hair.

When we pulled apart, I was panting, and Trip looked a little shell-shocked, as well. "I think we need to check out that back seat," I suggested.

I expected Trip to decline, and, really, that was OK. In the past four days, we'd already had more sex than I'd thought myself physically capable of. It was all to make up for the fact that, once we were on 'Enterprise', our chances to be together would be, if not completely eliminated, at least greatly reduced.

Trip didn't decline, though. Instead, he unbuttoned my collar with one hand and slipped his tongue inside my shirt. I jolted in surprise, and the gear shift stabbed me in the knee.

"Damn." I winced. Trip smiled and reached back to open his door.

The back seat was certainly spacious, but not spacious enough to accommodate two sexually aroused men over six feet tall. Trip was an engineer, though, and he figured it out.

I lay on my back on the seat, the door open and my feet on the ground. Trip pulled my jeans and my boxer shorts down to my knees, then removed his own pants and slid in on top of me. He hit his head on the ceiling, eliciting some colourful language, but it wasn't enough to deter him. He leaned down and kissed me, one hand slipping between my legs.

"How's that feel, darlin'?"

"I love you." It wasn't, strictly, an answer, but it was all my brain could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"I know. Me too." He removed his hand and scooted backwards, until his ass was hanging out the door and his mouth was level with my crotch. Automatically, my hands reached backwards, looking for something to brace myself against. I hit upon the mysterious handle that I'd noticed near the ceiling. That was good enough. I held on tightly as Trip demonstrated his considerable oral skills.

When he let go, I felt like I'd lost a vital part of my body. That was what Trip was to me, really, I thought. A part of me, so ingrained that if he was removed, I would die. I couldn't live without him, although I'd never quite figured out how to tell him that.

Trip turned around and returned, this time lying on his back on top of me. I groaned when I figured out what he was doing. "Trip, you don't…" I gasped. "I mean, we don't…"

"Jon, give me a break." He chuckled, which segued into panting as he positioned himself. I buried my nose in his hair, inhaling deeply. "I'm not exactly a virgin here." I knew. And I'd been amazed when I'd learned just how non-virgin Trip was. For a long time, he explained, he'd confused being someone's lover with being in love, and for an even longer time, he'd been desperate to be in love with someone who loved him back. Well, now he was. And I had no intention of ever letting him go.

"Are you sure?"

"Jon, if you don't fuck me now, it's going to be a lot more painful for both of us."

"I'll live," I assured him, although I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ended up hurting him.

"No you won't," Trip growled. "I'll kill you myself." I grinned. That was my Trip.

I put one arm around him and the other up on the shelf at the back of the car. He held my hand against his stomach, and I could feel him tense as I pushed my way in. I hesitated, but he growled again, and I went with it. You don't want to piss off an engineer. Especially not one who has to drive you back to his parents' house in his father's restored car.

I came first, and fortunately had the presence of mind to push Trip out of the car, kneel in front of him, and put my mouth where it belonged before he followed me over the edge. Even in my blissful, post-orgasmic state, I didn't want to think about Junior Tucker finding semen stains on the upholstery of his pride and joy.

Afterwards, we sat cuddled together on the grass, leaning against the car, my shirt underneath me and Trip on my lap because we'd learned the hard way that sitting naked on sharp grass was one very effective way of killing an afterglow. Eventually, we staggered to our feet. I pulled my shirt on, tucking it in to hide as much of the wet spot as possible, and Trip fastened the buttons, running his fingers through my chest hair as he did so.

"You know," he finally said, thoughtfully, "You ain't such a bad driver after all."

"You're pretty good yourself." I smiled and kissed his forehead. "What do you call that little move?"

Trip grinned and returned the kiss, gently biting my collarbone. "That, darlin', is merging."

When we got back to the house, Trip's mother was in the kitchen, looking forlornly between a digital picture of a cake and the less-photogenic mound in front of her. "Hey, Ma." Trip hung the car keys on a hook and patted her on the shoulder.

"Oh, hello, dear." She glanced up absently. "How was your ride?"

"Oh, you know. Not too bad." He winked at me. "Lizzie around?"

"I think she's outside with your father." Trip headed for the back door. I followed, until Mama Tucker stopped me with a:

"Just a second, Jonathan, dear." I turned around. "It looks like you've got something on your shirt." I glanced at the door, but Trip had already disappeared.

"It's nothing," I smiled at her, trying to back up. She advanced on me, her eyes fixed on the stain. "Really, Mama, it's fine." I used the name she was always asking me to, but not even that distracted her.

"Nonsense, dear. Let's see what it is. I think I've got some baking soda around here somewhere." She glanced around the cluttered kitchen. "Or is it soda water you're supposed to use on stains? I can never remember." I tried to seize that moment to escape, but it was futile. Mama grabbed my shirt with one of her perpetually grease-stained hands. Trip came by his career honestly. She may not have been an expert on the domestic front, but Mama Tucker was a brilliant mechanical engineer.

"This looks bad, dear. I wonder what it is." Since I could hardly rip my shirt from her hands, I stood, holding my breath, as she examined the stain. When the lightbulb appeared over her head, it was visible from Mars.

I suppose it was a bit much to hope that a woman with four children, two of them boys, wouldn't recognize a semen stain when she saw it.

"Oh, dear." Blushing, Mama dropped my shirt.

"Mama…"

"I'm so sorry, dear. I didn't mean to…I mean, I…" She laughed suddenly. And kept laughing, leaning against the nearest pile of assorted knickknacks and holding her sides. At first, I wondered if she needed a glass of water or a slap on the back or something, but then I realized the absurdity of the situation and laughed a little myself, although not nearly as heartily.

Eventually, she recovered enough to wipe her tears on her sleeve and lay a hand on my arm. "Oh, Jonathan, dear, I'm so sorry. It's just too funny." I gathered that, although I hadn't gathered why. "Trip would be mortified if he knew, but he started life in the back seat of that very car."

"Oh." I smiled.

"So did his sisters." Mama furrowed her eyebrows. "I can't remember where David was conceived. I think it might have been the Ferris wheel at the county fair. Oh, dear," she looked at me. "I wouldn't mention your little…ride to Junior, if I were you. He'd insist on cleaning the car, and I don't think that upholstery can take much more stain remover."

"I won't say anything," I promised. I hadn't been planning on giving Junior a blow-by-literal-blow account, anyway.

"Good." Mama gave a satisfied smile. "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes, dear. Go and tell the others to wash up, would you?" I did just that, wondering if Trip would want to hear about his origins. And if the county fair was coming to town before we were scheduled to go back to San Francisco.