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Senses	By : Caia Category: Star Trek > Enterprise Views: 1771 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I disclaim the Star Trek Enterprise fandom and make no porfit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Senses
- 1
Title: - Senses
Author: - Caia Caecilia
Rating: - M
Pairing: - Reed/OMC, Reed/Tucker
Warnings: - non/con
Feedback: - Yes please.
Disclaimer: -I own nothing; I just borrow the characters to play with.
Author’s notes: - This was going to be a long story but as I planned it in my head these scenes jumped out and I decided to put them into this format instead, which is a series of 200 word drabbles based on the five senses. My first Enterprise fic.

Tucker’s POV
1. SIGHT
Whatever the weapon was that their attackers used had left Trip face down in the dirt unable to move, paralysed, unable to help Malcolm.

All he could do was watch as Malcolm fought desperately for them both. He’d lost his phase pistol, knocked from his hand during the initial attack and now Malcolm fought with his fists, his feet, his teeth – animal in his ferocity.

Out -numbered Malcolm refused to stay down, blood dripping down his face, dragging himself to his feet. Trip wanted to turn away, block out the sight of his friend being systematically beaten. Frozen, he couldn’t move, horrified by what he saw yet almost hypnotised by the focus, the single-minded purpose etched on Malcolm’s face - he couldn’t physically shut his eyes, to do that would be to shut out Malcolm, to abandon him.

Their attackers, frustrated by Malcolm’s stubborn determination to keep fighting, stepped back and left Malcolm swaying on his feet, beaten and bloodied but far from broken. The sharp whine of a weapon and Trip saw Malcolm fall.

For a moment their gazes locked and Trip saw mute apology in Malcolm’s storm grey eyes and his heart clenched at the sight of it.
1. HEARING
Trip squeezed his eyes shut and fought not to be sick. The sounds coming from the next cell, Malcolm’s cell, left no doubt in his mind as to what was happening to his friend. His throat burned, raw from where he’d shouted and screamed at their capturers to stop, he’d threatened, begged, promised anything- if only they’d stop.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, animalistic grunting, but worse Malcolm’s silence.

At first had come the sounds of a scuffle, Malcolm, like himself still partially paralysed had been unable to fight back properly against the five men who’d entered his cell seeking revenge against the man who had fought against them with such grit and determination earlier. Then their words, filthy and disgusting as they’d described what they were going to do to Malcolm and Trip had heard Malcolm’s shout of denial and the rip of material and the attack began.

Malcolm had shouted and sworn his voice mingling with Trip’s own, but gradually defiance had turned to screams of pain, sobs and whimpers, a voice always so assured now begging to be left alone, for it to stop. Malcolm’s voice echoed by Trip’s.

But now Malcolm’s silence was deafening.
1. TOUCH
When the rescue had come Trip had been frantic to reach Malcolm. He’d been first into the cell where his friend cowered in a corner trying to pull the torn remnants of his uniform onto his violated body with hands that shook so hard he couldn’t coordinate his movements.

At Trip’s raised hand the others had stopped at the cell door and Trip had slowly entered the room on his own. Slow, careful movements, open hands and a quiet voice talking nonsense - trying to sooth and calm.

When he knelt in front of Malcolm, Trip slowly and gently reached out and took the torn sleeve of his uniform out of Malcolm’s trembling hand and helped him into it feeling his heart break when Malcolm flinched away from his touch.

Once dressed Malcolm stilled, his head bowed, silent tears running down his face. Trip paused and then took the other man into his arms.

Malcolm’s body stiffened at the contact but Trip held him gently but firmly until he felt all the strength drain out of Malcolm’s body and his friend sagged against him burying his face in Trips neck, and Trip had felt Malcolm’s tears burning against his skin.
1. TASTE
Malcolm’s physical wounds had taken weeks to heal but the psychological wounds lingered much longer.

It had hurt all his friends to watch him regress into the tight-lipped, solitary figure he’d been at the beginning of their journey together. Malcolm had erected walls around himself that, if anything, were even higher and thicker then they had been before, retreating into himself in self-defence, struggling with the ordeal he had experienced.

Trip understood. He woke up night after night sweating, crying out, sobbing, having to re-live listening to Malcolm being hurt, unable to help him. He understood better than anyone else some of the monsters that haunted Malcolm’s nights, and sometimes even during the day when Malcolm would get a far-away look in his eyes and he’d go pale and have to make an excuse to leave the room.

Trip understood and waited. He absorbed Malcolm’s anger, his sadness, his silence. Never letting Malcolm push him away, standing firm just as Malcolm had stood firm and fought for him, until Malcolm had stopped pushing.

The events they had suffered through had changed them and changed their relationship, they had a bond that ran deeper than friendship and when one night while sitting in Malcolm’s quarters after movie night there had been a lull in the conversation, and they had turned toward each other at the same time and without a word being spoken had leant forward and kissed, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world.

The taste of Malcolm was intoxicating, Trip couldn’t get enough. Cinnamon, bergamot – just Malcolm, the essence of the man. His lips, his mouth, his skin a habit Trip knew he’d never be able to break. One kiss and Trip would be licking his lips for hours afterwards trying to re-capture the exquisite taste.
(A/N – I cheated on this one as it ran to 300 words and I just couldn’t get it any lower.)
1. SMELL
He was in that cell. Powerless, listening as Malcolm was hurt. As the monsters laughed and Malcolm sobbed in pain. Malcolm fell silent and Trip knew he was dead, that rescue would come too late, they would find Malcolm’s body bloodied and violated, already cold.

Trip whimpered in his sleep...

Reaching behind him to the warm body spooned against his back Malcolm sleepily rubbed his hand up and down Trip’s bare arm murmuring comfort into the dark. Although they had moved past simple friendship Malcolm still wasn’t ready for a full-blown physical relationship, but he enjoyed their kissing and cuddling, not sure if he could sleep now without Trip’s reassuring presence pressed up against his back.

Trip jolted awake, freed from his nightmare by Malcolm’s comforting presence. His heart still thudded in his chest and his mind still echoed with the grief of Malcolm’s imagined loss. Tightening his grip around Malcolm’s waist, letting himself melt into the other man’s body Trip buried his face into Malcolm’s shoulder letting himself breathe him in. The smell of shampoo, and soap, the faintest lingering whiff of the lubricant used in the torpedo tubes – Malcolm, safety, love.

Trip breathed deeply and relaxed into sleep.
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Senses