Gigi Sinclair

Jon opened his eyes to the enjoyable feeling of someone's tongue on his stomach. From the texture of it, he guessed it wasn't Porthos, which meant it could only be one person. Closing his eyes again, Jon murmured,

"Trip," and reached down to stroke his lover's head. Instead of Trip's short hair, though, he found long, soft tresses, stretching at least to the other person's shoulders. Shoulders that were, he discovered as his hands turned from caressing to inquisitive, small and rounded, instead of broad and muscular. And, dear God, were they… yes, those squishy things pressed against his thighs were definitely breasts.

Jon sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Hoshi off the bed. She recovered quickly, though, running tiny, well-manicured hands up his legs and pushing him gently back down.

"What the hell…" Hoshi smiled, planting another kiss on Jon's stomach.

"It's good to be the captain," she informed him, before moving her mouth lower.

It was good, Jon couldn't deny that, but the guilt ruined any enjoyment he may have drawn from the experience. It was Hoshi, for God's sake. What kind of sick bastard was he, to be imagining Hoshi sucking him off? She was practically his surrogate daughter. Sure, Trip was younger than he was, but Trip was at least old enough to drink on most of the planets they came across. And Trip, as far as he could remember, had never given him a card on Father's Day. But it was OK, if he could just calm down enough to wake up, everything would be OK, and he would have to request a transfer because there was just no way he could ever face her again after this…

Jon felt, rather than saw, another figure approach from the side. Thank God. His sigh of relief was all but drowned out by Hoshi's theatrical—if somewhat muffled—moans. This had to be Trip, and this would be all right. They could phase out Hoshi, and it would turn into a regular sex dream instead of some perverted display of reverse Electra complex. He shut his eyes and lay, expecting to feel the familiar weight of Trip on top of him. A weight appeared, but it wasn't Trip. The feel of this person was completely different. Jon kept his eyes closed, hoping against hope that it wasn't who he thought it was, but his prayers went unanswered. He lay, paralyzed, as the body straddling his chest leaned forward to stick her tongue in his ear and murmur, in a clipped and very distinctive voice:

"Ensign Sato is correct, Captain. It is most logical that the captain of the ship enjoy certain…additional recreation privileges."

He woke up sweating, screaming and tangled in the sheets. It wasn't until Trip rolled over and mumbled,

"Wha?" That Jon was sure he was awake. He took deep breaths, trying to slow his hammering heart.

"Nothing, Trip. Just a nightmare."

"Mm. S'OK." Trip moved in closer and threw an arm over Jon's stomach, narrowly missing the wet, sticky patch that had appeared on the front of Jon's boxers.

***

Trip opened his eyes to the enjoyable feeling of someone's tongue on his stomach. From the texture of it, he guessed it wasn't Porthos, which meant it could only be one person. Closing his eyes again, Trip murmured,

"Jon," and reached down to stroke his lover's hair. After a moment of fondling the short hair and broad shoulders, Trip brought one of Jon's hands to his mouth. And, opening his eyes, he realized that, unless Jon was researching an updated edition of "Black Like Me", this wasn't him.

Trip sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Travis off the bed. He recovered quickly, though, running strong hands over Trip's thighs and pushing him roughly back onto the bed.

"What the hell…" Travis smiled and planted another kiss on Trip's stomach.

"It's good to be the chief engineer," he informed him, before moving his mouth lower.

It was good, but Trip was too consumed by guilt to enjoy it. This was wrong. He loved Jon, and just Jon. Sure, he'd had little slips in the past, what he called 'fidelity hiccups', with Kaitaama and some guy in a bar bathroom on Risa and that engineer on Jupiter Station, but that was all in the past. He was committed to Jon. Absolutely. Besides which, Travis was young, way too young to interest him. Not that Trip had ever thought about it, of course. No, he could definitely say that he'd never wondered what it might be like to have a younger lover, a guy who wouldn't fall asleep halfway through a blowjob, which, to be honest, was a little rough on a fella's ego, no matter how many times Jon apologized. But it was OK, Trip told himself. If he could just calm down enough to wake up, everything would be OK, and he would have to request a transfer because there was just no way he could ever face Travis again after this…

Trip felt, rather than saw, another figure approach from the side. Thank God. His sigh of relief was all but drowned out by Travis's theatrical—if somewhat muffled—moans. This had to be Jon, and it would be all right. Hey, it wasn't a fidelity hiccup if the guy you were faithful to was in on the action, right? Closing his eyes, Trip thought that this just might turn into a good dream after all. He waited for Jon to cuddle up beside him. Instead, a different, smaller but much stronger body rolled him onto one side and tucked itself in behind him. He lay, paralyzed, as the body behind him leaned forward to stick his tongue in Trip's ear and murmur, in a clipped, distinctly accented voice:

"Travis is right, Trip. You deserve something special after what we've been through lately. And I'm an expert at handling long, hard weapons."

Trip woke up to the sound of the alarm clock, his heart pounding like he'd run a marathon on the treadmill. Beside him, Jon stirred. Rubbing a hand over his face, Trip threw off the blanket to see a large, sticky patch on the front of his shorts. He was embarrassed, until he glanced over and saw his lover in a similar state.

"Did I miss something last night?" Jon rubbed his eyes and looked down at them.

"Jesus, we're like a couple of horny teenagers." Trip smiled and, as was so often the case with him, spoke before really thinking about it.

"What was yours about?" Jon hesitated for a fraction of a second before suddenly sweeping Trip into his arms.

"You, of course." Trip hugged him back. "What about yours?"

"Oh, you, darlin'. Definitely."

Jon was unusually clingy that morning, although Trip didn't really mind. After the third, lengthy, good-bye kiss in Jon's quarters, they ventured out, heading towards the bridge. When they arrived, Hoshi, T'Pol, Malcolm and Travis were already at their posts, going about their business. Trip felt a blush rising to his cheeks, although he couldn't imagine why Jon's neck was suddenly that bizarre shade of red.

"I think I'll spend some time in engineering today," Trip said, conversationally. Jon nodded and cast an eye over his bridge crew. Then he cleared his throat, said,

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in my ready room," and disappeared.