A Lazy Sunday Afternoon
an answer to Miera’s cuddling
challenge
by Setcheti
Disclaimer:
Author’s Note: Just a PWP and written all at one go, pretty much all there is to it.
Trip dragged Malcolm down the corridor by one arm, the armory officer protesting all the way. “Trip, I really should be in the armory…”
“You’ve been,” his lover interrupted him for the fifth time. “You were doing make-work an’ you know it. There’s nothin’ goin’ on today, hasn’t been for days now.”
“But still…”
“No buts.” They were in front of Tucker’s quarters by this point, and the engineer keyed open his door and pushed Malcolm inside, then locked the door behind them. “I’m callin’ a Sunday afternoon and you’re just gonna have to live with it.”
Malcolm slanted a look up at him. “It’s not Sunday, Trip, it’s…”
“I know.” Trip huffed in irritation. “But I fixed the lights in here so it looks like it, that’ll have to be as good as gettin’ there. We both need a break and this is it, four hours of just sittin’ around relaxin’ on a lazy Sunday afternoon.”
“Just sitting around, I’m sure the captain would love to hear that,” Malcolm snorted, but his heart wasn’t in the protest, not really. Starship duty was all day, every day; weekends didn’t exist in space, holidays were shore leave if and when. An oasis of laziness in the middle of all that suddenly sounded very pleasant. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
The engineer beamed at him, and Malcolm reflected with a pang that it was really so very easy to make Trip happy that he should be ashamed of himself for not doing it more often; little things, tiny considerations and small acceptances, that was all it took. And they cost him so very much less than he was actually willing to give his lover, so very much less. “Like I said,” Trip told him, “just sittin’ around together. I got some lemonade for us, and some cookies.” He tugged Malcolm over to the bed and pulled him down, arranging them so that the smaller man was reclining back against his chest, and then he took a padd off the nightstand and handed it to him. “And I got a book for you, too.”
Malcolm activated the padd and smiled, feeling even more guilty for dragging his feet earlier. “Inspector Morse! I’ve been wanting to read this one…”
“But you haven’t had time, I know.” Trip kissed his temple and ruffled his hair. “Got some now, though. And I’ve got a month’s worth of newspapers from home to catch up on, myself.” He held up a padd of his own. “I’m just sorry we don’t have a hammock – or a backyard to put it in. Someday, maybe.” He settled in more comfortably and rested his cheek on Malcolm’s hair with a small sigh of contentment. “Just have to make do for now.”
“Plenty good enough for me, luv,” Malcolm told him, relaxing into his lover’s casually possessive hold and letting the warmth of Trip’s body seep into him. He activated the padd, but instead of commencing with the first page – already set to his text preference, he noted – he let his gaze drift lazily around the room. The special lighting had a soft golden haziness to it, and with very little imagination Malcolm could picture them sprawled together in a gently swinging hammock late on a summer afternoon, trees rustling over their heads and a sea of grass stretching away from underneath them, on one side lapping at the porch of a white-painted farmhouse and on the other breaking against the chaotically orderly rows of a colorful kitchen garden. Trip had described home to him so many times that the images were clear and sharp in Malcolm’s mind, almost as real to him as he knew they were to his lover. Malcolm snuggled a little closer under Trip’s arm, returning his attention to his book and putting work and the ship out of his mind in favor of the illusion of peace, comfort and safety the man he loved had seen fit to share with him. He was going to enjoy this lazy Sunday afternoon.