"Size three wrench?" I ask, but there's just silence. I wave my hand around below me. "Trip? I need a size three wrench. You do have one, don't you?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." It's passed up, and in the background I can hear a tired sigh.

He's been acting strange for the last hour. We've been stuck in the access duct above the starboard cannon since lunch, thanks to a lucky shot from the enemy du jour knocking out all the power couplings. I hate it when people shoot my weapons, and I really hate it when I need help to fix them.

Still, if I'm going to be stuck in an enclosed space for a long period of time, Trip Tucker isn't the worst companion. Rather the opposite in fact. Normally. "Neutrino buffer?" Another long pause. "NEUTRINO BUFFER!"

"Sorry." The replacement part slides into my hand and I slap it into place.

I think it's time for a break. No, I know it's time for a break, because he's really starting to piss me off. It's fairly easy to piss me off, but I usually prefer it if someone is at least putting some effort into it. I slide down to Trip's level, where he's peering into a mess of wires with a rather abstracted air.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" He's trying to look clueless, but I'm not buying it. He sighs and stands up. "Do you want the socially acceptable answer, or the truth?"

Oh. This could be fun. "The truth."

"I haven't had sex in a very long time, and you're really turning me on."

Good grief, what the Hell has he been doing in T'Pol's quarters if he's not sleeping with her? Hmmm, embarrassed is a good look on Trip. I wonder what sexual panic looks like? I move up close and grab his zipper of his uniform.

"That's really not helping the whole 'you're turning me on' thing, Malcolm."

I kneel down. Taking the zipper with me, of course. He slides out of the top half of his uniform like a banana out of its peel. And talking of things I like to put in my mouth... hello! Unfortunately I only get as far as licking across the head of his cock before it goes off like an uncalibrated plasma grenade. Having someone come in your hair can be a turn on, but not when you have to walk half the length of the ship before you can wash it out.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry Mal." Trip says, as he slides down the bulkhead, cock still twitching and hanging out of his uniform.

"Not a problem." I say, using my best 'stiff upper lip' voice. I almost tack a 'sir' on the end, but that would probably be overkill, and Trip isn't stupid.

"Oh God, it really is a problem. Hang on, my quarters are closer than yours are. You can get cleaned up there. And... uh... I have more room. In case you'd like me to... uh..." He waves in the general direction of my crotch.

"Reciprocate?"

"Yeah. That."

"You don't have to. You don't owe me or anything." Oh yes he bloody well does. And he knows it too: he's got this panicky 'I just got blown by a lower rank' look on his face. "Whatever you're comfortable with." I add piously.

I wasn't actually expecting him to drag me out of the ductwork and lock me in his quarters for the rest of the shift, but I don't mind: it turns out that Trip is really comfortable with being fucked in the arse for hours on end.

 The End