"How did it go, sir?" Mayweather asked as Archer closed the shuttlepod door behind him. They were on the surface of Dekendi Three; Archer had asked to be run down so he could have a quick meeting with the Vulcan medical delegation. All Mayweather knew was that it had to do with T'Pol.

"Pretty well," Archer said. He looked pleased. "They agreed to a hearing. Thank god for Hoshi's research in the Vulcan database. She found the regulation that forced them into it."

Mayweather wondered what the hearing was about. Was T'Pol in trouble? "And that's good?"

"Yes, that's good. That's very good." Archer sat down next to Mayweather. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more about it, Travis."

"That's okay, sir," Mayweather said. He was curious—in addition to T'Pol, Doctor Phlox was involved. Mayweather had deduced this because the Vulcans had banned Phlox from the medical conference. Whatever was going on, Archer was deeply worried, and that worried Mayweather. Archer was in a much better mood now. "You ready to go?"

"Yes," Archer said, distracted.

Mayweather busied himself with the routine of taking off. The trip to Enterprise would only take about a half hour—if he took it as slow as he could without arousing suspicion. He had a certain fantasy about this shuttlepod, Archer, and the pilot's chair. It was time, he thought, to make it a reality—if he could convince Archer, that is. He had programmed the autopilot while waiting for Archer to return. Now he activated it and turned his seat to face Archer's.

"We've got about twenty, twenty-five minutes," he announced. He was leaving a scant five minutes for cuddling and clean-up.

"Okay," Archer said, not getting it.

Mayweather sighed. He would have to take the direct approach. He stood up, kicked off his boots, and unzipped his uniform. Archer looked up at the sound. His eyes widened as Mayweather shrugged out of his coverall, then began removing his T-shirt and underwear.

"Um, Travis, what are you doing?" Archer said.

"What does it look like, sir?"

"It looks like you're going to get cold, Ensign."

"Nope." Mayweather stroked his penis. It began swelling in his hand. "You're going to keep me warm, Captain."

"Travis."

"We're not in a public place, sir," Mayweather pointed out. "And I forgot to turn on the internal sensors."

"That's against regulations."

"So's this." Mayweather reached down, grabbed the front of Archer's uniform, and hauled Archer up out of his chair. "Sir." He pushed Archer against the control panel. Archer opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Mayweather kissed him. Archer made a "mmmf" sound of protest. "Shut up, Jon," Mayweather said. "Shut up and fuck me." He gave Archer another burning kiss, then fully unzipped Archer's uniform in one movement. He cupped his hand over Archer's soft cock and balls. Archer's penis stirred and began to lengthen. "You're going to fuck me in that chair." He inclined his head to indicate the pilot's seat. "And you're going to do it in twenty minutes or less."

This time, Archer kissed him. Mayweather tugged Archer's uniform off his shoulders. Their tongues fought as they stripped Archer to the waist. Mayweather was fully hard and throbbing now. He rubbed his cock against Archer's stomach as he slid Archer's uniform and briefs down. He had to grab Archer's penis to untangle it, and Archer moaned. He gave the heavy rod a few strokes, then gathered Archer's balls in his hands. He sucked on Archer's tongue as he played with them. They were large too, just like Archer's cock, and faintly furred. Archer's body hair made him hot—his chest, his arms and legs, his pubic hair.

"Now, Jon," he growled. He shoved Archer into the pilot's chair. Archer still had his shoes and socks on, and his uniform was around his ankles.

"Shit, Travis," Archer said, not taking his eyes from him.

"Here." Mayweather knelt by the chair and handed up the lube he'd placed there earlier. "You'll need this. Judging by the size of this—" He took Archer in his mouth and sucked him for a long few seconds. "You'll need a lot." He could smell the sharp, acrid scent of Archer's genitals. He inhaled deeply and ran his mouth along Archer's length again. Archer made a small noise and put his hand on the back of Mayweather's neck.

"Travis, I wanted to take my time when I fucked you for the first time," Archer said, voice a little labored. The pressure on the back of Mayweather's neck lifted, and he heard Archer squeeze lube into his hand. "I wanted to make it last all night. I wanted to be inside you for hours." When Mayweather brought his head up, swirling his tongue around the cap of Archer's cock, Archer's hand followed Mayweather's mouth up, slicking on the lube. Archer's voice grew ragged. "I wanted—I wanted to do it right." Mayweather clambered up, hands on Archer's shoulders. Archer moaned as Mayweather grabbed Archer's cock and slid it up and down his crack. He put his hands on Mayweather's hips and steadied him.

Mayweather said, "Save sweet and slow, Jon. You have fifteen minutes to make me come." The position was awkward, with him straddling Archer in the small chair. He pressed a slick finger inside himself. It went in smoothly. He spread lube around, grabbed Archer's cock again, and centered it. He settled his body weight down. "Oh, fuck, yes," he said as he sank onto Archer's penis until he was fully embedded. He was sitting on Archer's lap. He paused for a second, feeling Archer's length inside him as rigid pressure. The girth of Archer's cock pulled his sphincter wide, and there was an edge of pain to accompany the pleasurable feeling of stretching and filling. The chair tipped back a little from the combined weight of their bodies, which made things easier. He arranged his legs so they draped over the chair's armrests. He discovered that if he put his hands on the armrests, he could raise and lower himself.

"Hard and fast, Jon," he said. He deliberately relaxed his asshole. When he got really excited, he clenched up inside, but if he didn't relax, Archer would hurt him as he thrust. His arm muscles bunched as he raised himself up until only the tip of Archer's cock was inside him. Then he lowered himself, exquisitely slowly, feeling every centimeter of Archer's rod as it sank inside him. He kept himself relaxed and loose, but he could feel his sphincter tug against Archer's cock. He continued his movements, keeping the pace slow. He wanted Archer to snap.

"Oh, god, that feels good," Archer said, voice breathless. "You're so tight."

Mayweather sat on Archer's lap again and leaned forward, hands clasping the handles set on either side of the head of the chair. Their weight shifted, and the chair tilted back abruptly. There was a moment of panic before it locked into position, and they both laughed. Once the chair was stable, Mayweather put a hand on his own cock and worked it while Archer squeezed Mayweather's ass cheeks. Mayweather felt stretched. He leaned forward and kissed Archer, and Archer kissed him back desperately. Archer made small circles with his hips, pushing up hard inside Mayweather, and Mayweather's masturbating hand matched the pace Archer set.

"Come on, lover," Mayweather whispered. His cock was huge and straining. He massaged it until he was right on the edge. His balls felt tight. "I'm ready. I'm ready for you to fuck me." He pulled back a little and balanced himself on the armrests again. Mayweather resumed sliding, caressing Archer's cock with his asshole. Archer really gave him something to work against. He was solid and unyielding. He felt a jolt of unadulterated pleasure deep inside whenever Archer's cock stroked his prostate. Mayweather's ass twitched, and he moaned at the sensation. "It's okay, Jon," he told Archer. "I want you to lose it." Archer was panting, his magnificent body sheened with sweat as he fought for control. "I want you to come hard inside me. Come on, lover." He liked seeing Jonathan Archer out of control.

"God, you feel good," Archer said. "I can't believe how good you feel. Tight. Hot." He thrust harder. "Shit. You're all around me."

"Now, Jon," Mayweather said. He panted as he lowered himself, his cock huge between their bodies. "Come inside me now."

Archer clenched Mayweather's ass and thrust up desperately, meeting Mayweather's downward movements. Mayweather watched as Archer's eyes unfocused. "Shit. Yes. Yes." Archer's face grimaced, a rictus of pleasure, and Mayweather felt him stabbing deep inside with short, hard jerks as he peaked. Then Mayweather's climax hit him. He grabbed his cock, and his voice joined Archer's. His orgasm started with his prostate, moved to his stretched asshole, arrowed through his balls, and shot out his dick with each load of come. One-armed, he awkwardly raised and lowered himself on Archer, other hand frantically working his cock, slamming into Archer hard, both of them out of control.

Archer was just starting to soften when Mayweather finished coming. He realized he'd been saying, "Fuck, Jon," over and over. Archer swore when he came too.

"Come here," Archer said breathlessly. He touched Mayweather's face. "You're incredible," he said. "Oh, god." The edge in his voice was intensely erotic. "Kiss me."

Mayweather obliged. Archer's mouth was hungry and desperate. Mayweather tangled a hand in Archer's hair and tugged as he kissed. Archer's hand stroked up and down Mayweather's back. The intensity of the kisses didn't come down. "We need more time, Jon," he whispered. "I want to see you come again." He pushed his ass against Archer's lap. "I want to feel you get hard inside of me."

"Oh, Jesus," Archer moaned. "I want to see you lose control again, riding my dick like that."

Mayweather shifted his weight, and Archer made a noise that sounded like pain to Mayweather. He lifted himself up and freed Archer's cock. He felt a warm trickle of Archer's seed seep out of his asshole. He sat back down. The chair trembled but held. His arms were sore from holding up his body weight on the armrests. Mayweather's cock felt tender. He clasped it gently, and a bolt of sensation hit him, almost as if he were coming again.

"God damn it," Mayweather moaned, closing his eyes. He couldn't tell if he felt agony or ecstasy. "Shit. Fuck. Christ. Hell." He squeezed himself hard, and the moment passed. He could feel his asshole burning. "Did I forget any?"

"Oh, Jesus."

"Yeah, I forgot that one." Mayweather felt Archer's chest move as he laughed breathlessly. "Jon. I forgot that one too."

"'Jon' isn't a swear word."

"They're not swear words. They're what I say when I come." Mayweather nibbled at Archer's lower lip. He didn't feel sated. He felt like spending the next few hours in Archer's arms. The man was incredible. Mayweather had been attracted to Archer's body and personality, but he had never suspected what he'd find once he breached the professional exterior. Archer was hot, exciting, and playful. "Can you come over tonight?" he invited. "Spend the night with me?"

"I can't tonight," Archer said regretfully. "I have to talk to T'Pol and arrange the hearing. I'll be up late."

"Late is okay," Mayweather said.

"Are you sure?"

"You can wake me up. I don't mind. Stay a few hours—as long as you can."

"I'll be there."