bev_crusher1971 (bev_crusher1971) wrote in entficathon,

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Just right on time...

Okay, here is my part of the ficathon. It's for Stormy. Have fun, dear.

Title: Leather and Lace
Author: Beverly Crusher
Written for: Stormymouse
Pairing: Archer/Reed
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approximately 3120 words
Summary: Some Ceremonial Dressing should come with a health least for a certain captain...

Author's notes: Written for entficathon, Spring 2005. Stormy wanted to have an A/R, first time, an away mission, angst and some leather clothes...I'm not so good with the angsty part, so I skipped that and went directly for the leather. Hope you like it.
Oh, and this is my first entry ever in a livejournal. So I desperately hope I did everything right. If not, please let me know. Thanks.

Special thanks: Qzee, my super-quick beta. She made this whole thing much smoother...believe me.

Feedback:'s like cheese for Porthos.

Okay, so here we go...

„You can't be serious, captain.“

Jonathan Archer looked at Malcolm Reed and tried in vain to hide his grin.

„I AM serious, Malcolm. We are guests here on this planet and therefore we will adapt to their customs. And if that means that we have to wear their clothes, then that's what we'll do.“

'But,' he thought, 'I can absolutely understand why YOU don't want to wear the Ceremonial Dressing.'

Enterprise's chief engineer chose exactly that moment to appear. He pushed the door open, grumbling,

„C'apn, I don't think that I can...“

He stopped when his gaze fell on Malcolm. Jon saw his old friend's jaw drop down. He walked over to him, and closed it with an audible 'clack'.

Trip quickly shook his head before a big smile threatened to split his face in two.

„On the other hand, I guess I'm lucky.“

Jon grinned broadley, while Malcolm's face grew darker and darker. Finally he reached for the strap on his left shoulder.

„Oh bloody hell. I will NOT make a fool of myself by wearing such...such...outfit.“

Malcolm almost spit the last word out, turning around to leave the room. Jonathan hastily strode after him.

„Malcolm, no. Leave the...the clothes on, okay? It's only for tonight and tomorrow. I promise that I won't tell anyone. And Trip won't either.“

He turned around at his last words to cast a quicky glance at his old friend who held his hands up defensively.

„Not a word from me to anyone. I swear. But Mal...leave it on, okay?“

„Don't call me Mal.“

The answer came on autopilot and Trip and Jon looked at each other, knowing they had won. With a deep sigh, Malcolm nodded courtly.

„All right, sir. I only hope that nobody will notice me.“

His back as stiff as a pole he left the room, the eyes of the two other men glued to his backside.


Malcolm was fuming.

Never before in his whole career had he been forced to wear clothes like these. If someone could call this clothes. He went back to his room and shut the door behind him a little louder than neccessary. Without thinking, his eyes turned to the large mirror on the opposite wall.

He saw a dark haired man with black leather pants, clinging to his body like a second skin. Two long, black leather straps ran from the front over his chest, met over his breastbone in a silver ring, and went from there over his shoulders down his back. His chest underneath those leather straps was bare. A soft black leather collar was laying around his neck, closed with a little silver clasp.

He felt strangely vulnerable. They weren't allowed to carry any weapons, so there wouldn't be any way to defend his captain in case an emergency would come up.

His gaze softened. His captain. His captain who was also wearing black leatherpants but, as a captain, was allowed to wear a shortcut, darkgreen shirt and a long, black leather overcoat. HE looked stunning.

And Trip? Hell, even Trip looked good. As commander he wore a lightblue shirt to his leatherpants but no overcoat.

And Malcolm?

He felt as if was stuck in a bad twentieth cuntury movie. He looked down at him and groaned slightly. He looked so ridiculous. His legs were too skinny, his chest was hairless and his shoulders...

Sighing he turned away from the mirror and threw himself on the bed. Two more hours until the official banquet would begin. So he could rest a little. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


The night went by rather quietly and uneventful. Almost pleasantly. At around two in the morning theys were allowed to leave the banquet, a fact for which Malcolm was very grateful. He had enjoyed the delicious food and the good wine, but after about two hours he found himseld the focus of one of the ministers, a young and charming man called Jarbo Dorka. Jarbo had tried to talk to him, had followed him on his every step and had been outrageously flirting with him.

He was good-looking, with long black hair, amazingly blue eyes and a beautiful face with high cheekbones.

But Jarbo wasn't Jonathan Archer and therefore Malcolm wasn't interested. He was almost relieved when his captain finally told him that they could leave.

Jonathan had watched Malcolm the whole evening. Seeing a young man flirt with his armory officer had hurt him more than he thought possible. Although Malcolm was showing no sign of interest, Jon felt sad that he wasn't allowed to do the same. That he wouldn't be able to show his feelings for his beloved English man so openly. With gritted teeth he kept his eyes glued on the infuriating young man until at two in the morning when he finally had enough. A little harsher than intended he told Malcolm that they could leave the banquet now and were allowed to go into their rooms. Relieved, he saw the young Minister also leave. He walked Malcolm to his room. Just because it was near his own quarters. That's what he would tell say, just in case someone would ask.

But to himself he could be honest. He wanted to be sure that the annyoing young man would go to his own room and not sneak up to Malcolm's. Once the door closed behind the armory officer, he walked to his own. Sure, that he wouldn't be able to sleep so soon.

Back in his own quarters Malcolm quickly undressed and fell into bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

After a few heartbeats a smile appeared on his face. He began to dream his favourite dream...

...strong hands kneaded his shoulders, stroking in a loving caress down to his buttocks. Moaning softly, Malcolm closed his eyes, and snuggled closed into his pillows. Tender lips followed the path the hands had taken earlier, kissing his shoulders, his back, tasting his skin, drawing little patterns which made the English man smile even more. Then he felt a movement at his side and a kiss next to his ear, followed by a soft murmure,

„Let me love you, please.“

A mighty shiver run down Malcolm's spine when he head the deep, rumbling voice of his lover and he answered,

„Yes, love, please...“

The strong hands returned to his shoulders, gently insistently turning him around.

„I want to look at you, Malcolm.“

Without hesitation he turned around and gazed into the beautiful face of his lover. Jon's green eyes were shining with love, and his mouth was smiling. Now he moved closer to kiss Malcolm again, and in expectation the younger man closed his eyes...

...and woke up, startled, sure that he had heard something. In an instant he held his phase pistol in his hand and was out of his bed. Carefully, he scanned the dimly lit room, trying hard not to breath to loud, and after a few seconds he lowered the gun slowly.

He was alone.

Shivering in the cool night air, he took a deep breath and went back to bed. He pulled the cover back over his ears, but it took him almost an hour until he could sleep again.


The next morning found Malcolm Reed with a slight headache. Groaning he got up and stumbled to the bathroom. After he finished his morning toilette, he searched for his clothes.

His usual clothes. His uniform.

It was gone!

The only thing he found was his communicator on his nightstand. He grabbed it and switched it on.

„Reed to Captain Archer.“

„Archer here. Malcolm, what's up?“

„I...ah...I'm missing my clothes.“

He heard the barely hidden laughter of the older man and goosebumps appeared on his skin. Suddenly disturbing pictures of last night's dream came up, flooding his mind with images of a naked Jonathan Archer, moaning in his arms while his...

„Malcolm. Malcolm? You're still there?“

Blushing furiously, Malcolm returned to the here and now, and replied,

„Yes captain, I'm sorry. As I said before, I'm missing my clothes. I'm sure that I left them in my room last night and now...“

„I know, Malcolm. I was informed last night that our clothes are getting cleaned. We'll have them back tomorrow in the morning, latest.“


What should he wear until then?

„But what am I going to wear today? I only have this...this...oh, you know what, left.“

„Sorry, Malcolm. But we all have to wear out Ceremonial Dressings today. Trip and I also.“

Malcolm's gaze fell on the pile of black leather and sighing deeply he sat down on his bed.

„Can I at least wear a shirt, captain?“

He hated that his voice sounded so begging but he was desperate. Running around all day, dressed only in black leather pants wasn't his idea of being comfortable on a peaceful mission.

„That wouldn't be appropriate.“

„I see. Then I'll stay in my room until tonight.“

Again the laughter, this time openly, teasing him.

„You know that you can't do that, right? Ambassador Moror and Jarbo Dorka, his Prime Minister are expecting you in less than an hour. Trip and I are on our way down to breakfast. Meet us there in ten minutes, lieutenant.“

Malcolm winced slightly. The captain was pulling rank and he knew what that meant. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and replied,

„I'll be there, captain.“

He stressed the 'captain' but only a little. He closed the comm and began to dress. The soft leather was very comfortable to wear, but he hated the way his chest was exposed. In his opinion he looked like a whore. And he hated it. With one last look at the mirror he left the room.


The day went by rather quietly. His meeting with the Ambassador was very interesting, though the constant flirting of his Prime Minister was starting to annoy him quite a bit. And as if the flirting wasn't bad enough, the touching started. Wherever he stood, whatever he was doing, he always could feel a hand at his back, or on his elbow, or on his shoulder.

He tried to ignore it but as the day went by it got harder and harder every time. In the late afternoon, when the tour was luckily, finally finished, he tried hard not to run away and back to the safety of his room.

He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Two more hours until the second part of the banquet would start and he had to meet Jarbo Dorka again. He sighed. If only his captain would show some interest in him...but that was wishful thinking.

And he knew that.

He was realistic.

And sad about it.

He laid himself down on his bed again and tried to rest for a little while, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation with the annyoing Prime Minister.


The second Malcolm entered the Grand Hall at night, he found himself under the intense focus of two men.

One was, of course, Jarbo. Malcolm guessed it, felt it, knew it, and found it terrible unnerving.

The other was Jonathan Archer, who was watching over his armory officer like a tiger over her cub. And he saw all the little advances, noticed all the subtle and not so subtle hints, and felt his anger grow from minute to minute.

At around midnight he saw that Jarbo tried to pull Malcolm behind some tall bushes, and he saw that Malcolm tried desperately to remain polite and to avoid being alone with the handsome young man. But then Jarbo put a little more force behind his words, now grabbing Malcolm's arm in a tight grip.

And something inside Jonathan snapped. He walked over to the two men and involutarily clenched his right hand.

Later, T'Pol would say that it was the planet's atmosphere combined with the drinks the captain had been drinking that had made him loose control and act like this. But Jon knew that he hadn’t been drinking anything.

The Ambassador would apologize profusely and tell them repeatedly that something like that would never ever happen again.

Jarbo Dorka would say that it was never his intention to hurt anybody and that he got simply carried away by the mood and by the gray-blue eyes of one Malcolm Reed.

And Trip would say that he saw something in his old friend's eyes that hadn't been there for a long time. And in Malcolm's eyes he had seen a sparkle.

Malcolm simply would say that his captain misjudged a situation and tried to rescue him when there was no rescue needed.

Jonathan would remain silent. He would say nothing. He would only smile.

All he knew was that it had been his best decision ever. It had been a real satisfaction to walk over to the young man, tear his hand away from Malcolm's arm and punch the minister on the nose. But the highlight had been the passionate kiss he had given his armory officer. Even Trip's jaw had headed south. Then Jon had grabbed Malcolm's arm and had almost dragged him out of the Grand Hall.


Outside the Hall, Malcolm finally managed to stop his captain. But before he could say anything, Jon turned around and gazed down at his hand which was still tightly closed around the younger man's bicep. For several seconds Jon seemed to be at a loss for words. Suddenly he tore his hand away as if burned, trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back and turned away from Malcolm.

For a few seconds, neither of them did anything. Then Malcolm touched Jon's shoulder and turned him around, so he could look into the beautiful green eyes of his captain. Jon reciprocated his look, his gaze open and vulnerable, Malcolm's gaze curious and searching. They stood like that for what seemed an hour, though in fact only a few heartbeats passed. Suddenly Malcolm reached out with his hand and rested it gently on the older man's cheek. With a deep sigh, Jon closed his eyes and moved closer into the warmth of the other man's skin.

The silence stretched.

Jonathan didn't know what to expect next, but he sure as hell wasn't prepared for the smaller man to take his hand and, still without saying a word, drag him along the corridor and into his own room. Once there, he closed the door behind them, locked it and threw the key out of the window.

A servant who was just leaving a room three doors down the hall, heard the loud laughter of the human starship captain and had to smile…


Jon had tried to imagine what it might be to make love to Malcolm, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it.

Feeling his skin, smelling him, tasting him…it was almost more than he could bear. He closed his eyes, tried to memorize every single moment, every gasp he caused, and every moan he heard.

Their first kiss as lovers was so soft and tender that it nearly brought tears to his eyes, but soon passion took over. The first skin to skin contact took his breath away and for a few seconds he had to think about a winter night on Vulcan or he would have come in an instant.

Malcolm was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. Passionate and caring, and sometimes almost a little aggressive.

Jonathan liked this other Malcolm, and while his brain turned to mush because of the extremely talented tongue of his lover, he made a decision. Before he would be unable to form a coherent sentence, he pushed the younger man a few inches away from him. Now Malcolm was unable to kiss him any longer, but he couldn’t stop the wandering hands which were doing wonders to his body.

“Mal, honey, love, sweetheart, wait…no, please, wait, just…just one second…I…I…god, Malcolm, yes, there. Just there…no, wait…no…please, love me….make love to me.”

When Jon looked up into the eyes of his lover, he barely recognized the color. The lust had turned them almost black, and they shone.

“I will. But…are you sure?”

Jon nodded and was rewarded with the most passionate kiss he had ever got in his life. While Malcolm kissed him into another dimension, Jon felt the other man gently and carefully entering his body. His whole body became pure sensation and he had to reach for Malcolm’s shoulders to prevent him from falling apart.

Suddenly he heard a soft murmure close to his ear, “I love you, Jon. Love you so much…”

When Jon opened his eyes, he found himself under the intense focus of those amazing grey-blue eyes, felt the smaller man move inside him, and when Malcolm bent down to kiss him tenderly, lovingly, and so sweetly…he lost it.

He came with a hoarse shout all over his stomach, shuddering, shivering, bursting into a million pieces. He almost sobbed when he felt Malcolm pound deeper and harder into his body, seeking and finally, with a deep groaning, finding his own release. Panting harshly, the younger man collapsed on top of him, and almost on their own accord his arms closed around the sweating form of his lover.


Jon drifted, floated, and only slowly he came back to reality. He had his head pillowed on a bony shoulder while a strong hand caressed his back gently. He raised his head and found himself nose to nose with Malcolm. A tender kiss was pressed to his lips.

“Hey…you passed out. Is there something I should know?”

Malcolm’s voice sounded teasing.

“I did NOT!”

But Jon’s voice still was shaky, even to his own ears. Malcolm only grinned, and Jon tried to cover his embarrassment with a shrug. Then he laid his head back on his lover’s shoulder. He sighed in deep contentment. Yes, he definitely could get used to this. Involuntarily, he snuggled closer.

“Do you think we can keep it?”

Jon frowned slightly. He shifted a little and rested his chin on Malcolm’s chest.

“What do you mean?”

With a mischievious sparkle in his eyes Malcolm pointed with his chin to the pile of soft black leather on the floor.

“The Ceremonial Dressing. Somehow I grew fond of it.”

Now Jon laughed out loud and hugged his lover until he could nearly hear his ribs yell in protest.

“I’ll do my best. I promise.”

Jon pulled Malcolm to his heart and rested his head again on his shoulder. Malcolm in his bed, with the leather pants for some of their kinky moments…that really would be fun.

The end
Tags: archer/reed, round one
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