What Little Boys Are Made Of - Part 6

Author - Ghostwriter25
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Trip's eyes squinted open from sleep and then closed again. He could hear hushed voices by the door.

"I just wanted to pay my respects, sir." It was Malcolm out in the hall.

"He hasn't passed on, Malcolm." Jon said, angrily, "He's just ailing."

"I'm sorry, sir. I...I didn't mean..." Malcolm stuttered.

"No, no," Jon shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's been a long night. As soon as I get some breakfast into him," Jon whispered. "We'll be headed to sickbay for a check in with Phlox."

"Do you think it would be all right if I stopped by this evening? After I get off my shift?"

"I think you'd better buzz first, Malcolm." Jon suggested. "Trip's been on a pretty fast roller coaster since all this started. It's one moment at a time."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Trip heard the door close and opened his eyes to see Jon standing by the desk, dressed only in his Starfleet blue T-shirt and briefs. Two trays sat atop the desk; one had leftover morsels of breakfast and the other was filled with food.

"Morning." Jon said as he turned to see Trip awake. "Chef made a special breakfast for you."

Trip swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He brushed past Jon and moved off into the bathroom, kicking the door closed with his foot.

Jon stared at the door. What was he up to? He waited for a few minutes, listening intently. There was a frustrated growl from the other side of the bathroom door and Jon moved to it. He placed his ear on the door in time to hear another frustrated growl. This time a pained moan followed. Jon shook his head and opened the door.

Trip was standing by the toilet, trying to push his underpants down with his bandaged claws. There was no appearance of success.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked.

"Just leave me alone," Trip warned. "Let me try this on my own."

"Trip," Jon started.

"No!" Trip yelled, the veins in his neck bulging.

Jon knew this outburst from Trip was desperation more than determination. Ignoring the warning, he moved into the bathroom and towards Trip, who stood rigid and breathing heavily. Jon stared into Trip's eyes, cautiously, as he gently reached for the waistband of his friend's briefs. There was no resistance from Trip. Just wounded resignation in the form of gritted teeth and flaring nostrils. Jon rose after lowering Trip's underpants and slowly made his way out the door, closing it without a glance back.

Trip sat down, resting his forearms on his thighs and lowering his head.

Degraded, humiliated, angered; the feelings were cascading down around him and he couldn't decide which one was greater. But, either one or all, he couldn't let them take over. He fought back the tears that welled up in his eyes. He wasn't 10 year old Charlie Tucker, crying in the bathroom at his uncle's farmhouse. He couldn't let Uncle Chris keep hurting him. He wouldn't.

Jon sat at his terminal, reviewing the graveyard shift's reports. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not there, anyway.

He sat back, rubbing his chin and scratching the stubble on his face. He just didn't know what was right or wrong about this situation. Every time he and Trip got over a hurdle, there was another one bigger than the last. In the past, hard times and dire situations had strengthened their friendship. But he was now certain that what was happening within these walls would either solidify or nullify it.

Jon rose and moved to the bathroom door, leaning closely to it. "Trip?" No response. "I'm coming in."

T'Pol sat in the command chair, staring straight ahead. Captain Archer was to be off duty for the next few days while he tended to Commander Tucker. He was, of course, well informed of all happenings on Enterprise and the bridge specifically. But he was not to be disturbed unless it was urgent. The matter of taking care of the commander was of the utmost importance. His full recovery was necessary to the continuance of this mission and, from what she had been told, the course of treatment was delicate.

Human emotions subject them to much distress and physical pain, T'Pol thought. Yet, even she had to concede that the species were driven by those emotions to succeed. However, when failure resulted, for whatever reason, pain was usually the result. Logically, there would be less chance of painful incidents if they abandoned the risky emotions. Incidents like the one Commander Tucker was going through.

T'Pol shifted in the chair, her eyes sweeping Lieutenant Reed's station. She returned her attention toward him and found he was staring at her. She expected him to speak, but he only nodded to her and returned to manning his controls.

Trip had, again, bolted from the bathroom once Jon had raised his briefs. Jon dried his hands on a towel and wiped up the sink. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw a tired, disheveled face with tousled hair. What the hell had he been thinking to take this on? Was he mad? Was there nothing left between him and Trip now?

CRASH!

Jon turned and ran in to the living area of his quarters. He stood in the middle of the room, staring in disbelief.

Jon's empty tray and its' contents were strewn on the floor. Trip was sitting at the desk with his face buried in the plate of scrambled egg mixture that chef had prepared for him. He dug in, gobbling up what food he didn't spray out in all directions.

Jon just watched him, not attempting to stop the angry, defiant display. His heart went out to Trip. He knew it had to be so hard to endure being cared for in this way. He wondered if his seemingly selfless offer to take care of Trip was doing his friend more harm than good.

Trip raised his head, snorting away some of the egg stuck to his face. Jon moved up, looking down at his friend. There were bits of egg, bell pepper, onions all stuck into the tufts of blond hair on Trip's chest. He reached for Trip's arm and gave it a gentle tug. Dutifully, Trip rose and followed Jon into the bathroom.

Jon retrieved the plastic protective bags that Phlox had given him and placed them over the bandages on Trip's hands. Trip looked every where else but at Jon.

When he finished securing the baggies, Jon removed his T-shirt and then hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down. He stepped out of them, tossing them in a heap on the floor by the sink. He turned to Trip and repeated the same with his briefs. For a split second Jon's mind and eyes wandered over his friend's body. All the previous intimate moments they had shared between them were strictly caring for the other. He had not let his mind wander to marvel at the body that was before him. Perhaps now, that he himself was naked in front of Trip, his demon was rising. Jon turned and headed for the shower, hoping his flushed face was not noticeable. He stepped inside and Trip followed.

The water was warm and soothing. Jon decided it was best to take turns washing himself and then Trip. Quickly, but thoroughly, he lathered up his hands and began to rub his chest and stomach. Trip stood to the side, head down. Next, Jon lathered up his hands and moved to Trip. He began to wash Trip's chest and pick the food particles out of the hair there. Still, Trip looked away and would not allow any eye contact.

Jon turned his back to Trip and began to wash his groin. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable as his organ began to stir. He was too old for this, he thought. College kids experimented with their sexuality. Not starship captains. From the first time he laid eyes on Trip there was something about him that Jon couldn't put his finger on. Something that made Jon protective of the younger man. He had thought, in sickbay, that it was because he never had a younger brother. That was what he had thought, but maybe that wasn't it at all.
"Turn around," Jon said, not looking at Trip. He heard the sloshing of Trip's feet on the shower floor and then turned around. He saw Trip's strong muscular back. Hopefully, he could wash Trip here first and he would settle down some.
Trip closed his eyes and hung his head, letting Jon's hands roam the back of his neck and down his shoulders. It felt good. The sensation was so calming. The hands moved across and down to the lower back. There was a slight withdrawal of touch and then he felt Jon's hands cupping his backside, one cheek at a time and instinctively Trip clenched his muscles there. He inhaled and then let out a long breath as he realized he was feeling strange. He opened his eyes and looked down at his cock. Geez! This ain't right, he thought. But, there it was his cock growin' like ole Pinocchio's nose.

Jon was bending down, washing Trip's legs, when suddenly his charge turned around.

"What in the hell's goin' on?" Trip asked, his voice shaking.

Jon looked up now looking smack dab at Trip's erect cock. Shocked, he looked up at Trip and saw his best friend staring down at his crotch. Jon followed the gaze and saw that his own organ was still at attention. What was going on here? This could only make things worse for Trip and his recovery. Damn, for their friendship and this mission for that matter.

"Jon?" Trip asked, his voice sounding like a scared little boy. "What..." His voice cracked and broke off and he just looked at Jon for an answer.

"I don't know, Trip," Jon shook his head. "God, I don't know."


Continue to Part 7

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu