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“So–” Archer breathed, because he’d only just remembered to do that, and knocked his head back against the steely wall of the Enterprise . “So this is what you meant when you said–” blue lips silenced his for a second or two long enough to leave him both rattled and speechless, half-drunk on the sensation of hands holding him aloft as it was, then -
“Alpha male,” Jonathan finished weakly; laugh shaky as he felt Shran adjust his legs around his waist like he weighed nothing .
“Your terminology doesn’t do it justice,” the Andorian muttered sharply. Archer bit back a sound somewhat futilely, his legs still grappling the Andorian’s middle, too jellied by far to be standing anyway. “I am one of the dominant Andorian males. Translation equivalent, I command respect. Which you will give me,” Shran added, staring down an upturned nose at Archer. The other man grinned, shrugging a little, suspended in Shran’s grasp.
“Doesn’t this seem respectful?” Archer rasped, and wriggled slightly. The pressure between his legs the instant Shran had decided they were done talking like civilized people had become almost unbearable. Hoisted up like a mainsail, Archer wasn’t complaining, though. Maybe he might’ve been embarrassed about the whole ordeal were Trip or T’Pol here, but -
Honestly, this was - kinda nice. To not be the person taking charge for a change. And frankly, while he hadn’t been sure about what he felt for Shran, this really, um.
Clarified things.
“You confuse me, pinkskin,” Shran said idly, shifting forward till he was even closer than before; till their bodies were almost flush, and nothing lay between them save Shran’s thermally-regulated uniform and Archer’s own. The firm, leathery feel of the Andorian’s attire only served to send more blood rushing to Jonathan’s every extremity - another new discovery, he’d realized, and grinned to himself wildly over. “Something funny ?”
“No, I just - why - why do I confuse you?” Archer panted, sliding forward in an effort to get closer to that coolness; the rubbery material firm against his overheated frame. Shran watched him, unimpressed; apparently, and, with a snort, pushed Archer into a new position, hands up over his head, body held up by Shran’s core-strength and legs alone. Archer was left agape for a second or two, the hands that’d been scrambling for purchase on stony shoulders now borne aloft.
“Well, for one thing,” Shran said idly, glancing down between them, “your - sex organ –”
“Dick,” Archer supplied helpfully, then, squirming again, added, “or - cock, or - there’s a lotta words for it, actually, if you–”
“I don’t care,” said Shran flatly - and there was no mistranslating that, so Archer shut up with an appreciative, deeply understanding nod. “My point is, it seems to be out at all times. I’m certainly aware of it now,” Shran noted, motioning toward Archer’s straining lap with a rueful bob of antennae. An insane notion crossed Archer’s mind to try putting one of those in his mouth, but - no. He had to maintain some kind of decorum. If he and Shran were going to do this, he had to let him take the lead. Shran probably had more experience with, uh - aliens - than Archer did, after all. Exploration being what it was, however -
He was certainly up for the task.
“Well - what - what do you have down there?” Jonathan smiled dazedly as Shran glanced back up, his flyaway brows coming together like an avalanche. “Huh? Weapon? Um - bigger… sex organ ?” Jonathan chuckled faintly, the nerves getting to him the longer Shran studied him with that dark, impenetrable stare.
“Do you want to find out?” Shran asked finally. Those snowy brows parted, lifting along with the raising of a cerulean chin. Probing antennae wiggled questioningly, and Archer realized then and there just how far in over his head he happened to be.
“...yeah,” he decided - or his mouth decided for him and he actually had no say in the matter. A crooked grin overtook his face, and, with a nod, Archer ground against Shran again, trying to seek friction as much as he could, given their current positioning. “Wanna see you. I want - to learn everything there is to know about you.” Shran scoffed at that, fingers rubbing slow, absent circles in Archer’s wrists. The feeling sent a cool shiver down his spine, and, swallowing, the captain croaked once more -
“Please.”
“You can’t expect an Andorian to lay bare all their secrets to a pinkskin at once,” Shran muttered. One hand still holding Archer’s arms above his head, Shran dragged the other set of sky-colored fingers across Jonathan’s middle, snaking down to cup his length, almost…studious. That alone nearly sent Archer over the edge, but, keeping it together, he simply bit his tongue and tipped his head back to study the ceiling. “You have to earn them.”
“How do I–” Archer gulped, feeling Shran’s hand move back up toward the fastenings of his spacesuit, direct and to the point. Just like the rest of him. “Earn them?”
“You do as you’re told for a change,” Shran said idly. The first clasp fell to a flick of the Andorian’s pointer finger, then the next. Archer watched, fascinated, as Shran undid the top of his uniform - then jerked a little as cool flesh found warm torso and brown curls, idly stroking. “Do as I say, and you’ll learn something.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Archer muttered, trying to ignore the way the change in temperature was utterly torturous - and not in a bad way, either. Shran shot him another Look, capital L, and frowned deeply.
“I don’t do this with other ‘boys’,” Shran said dryly, “when it comes time to mate, it is considered a sacred rite among my people. It is intricate . It is - necessary.” Archer felt a little bit of himself settle back into place; scientific inquiry overriding raw hormones and physical need - for a moment, anyway.
“Wh - then…” blinking at Shran somewhat hazily, Jonathan furrowed his brow. “Then - why me?” And why now ?
They’d been having another ordinary argument, Archer thought - same as always before the room emptied out to be only the two of them. And sure, he’d be lying if he said the back-and-forth between himself and Shran wasn’t a turn-on, but - he’d never expected it to get this far. This sounded way more serious than a couple of guys trying to get each other off. Stress-relief, or what-have-you.
“If that answer isn’t obvious to you, Archer ,” Shran said quietly, “then you’ve got a lot more to learn than I thought.”
Archer opened his mouth - but didn’t get very far before his eyes crossed and his body jolted again. One cool, blue hand encircled his dick, fondling - fondly . The touch was featherlight, carefully-so - as Shran knew all too well how much his strength outdid Archer’s by far, after all. Dizzied in entirely new ways, knowing just how close to danger he was, Jonathan could only laugh for a second or two - high, hoarse, and trembling.
“How about this,” Shran said idly, his hand beginning to slide up and down the captain’s shaft, pace deliberately slow, “you don’t find release until I command you to. And then, and only then will you be permitted to…learn more.” The smirk on that sky-colored mouth was almost enough to undo him, but, trying to steady himself, Archer nodded fervently.
“Right. Yeah, I can–I can do that…”
“Why don’t you explain it to me,” Shran remarked, “what I’ve got in my hand.” His thumb curved questioningly over the head of Archer’s cock and Jonathan arched unexpectedly, nearly whacking his head against the window. “ Care ful, pinkskin,” Shran chided, tutting his tongue. “It seems this area’s particularly…” slick followed the next swerve of his finger, and Archer’s mouth fell open in a hungry moan. “Sensitive.”
“Jesus - Christ, Shran,” Archer panted - and Shran smirked, self-satisfied, before slipping his hand up higher. Biting his bottom lip, Jonathan exhaled raggedly through his nose. “It’s um. It’s ah… hah –” that finger was now stroking the underside of his cock, trailing almost absentmindedly toward - uncharted territory . “My - ph…” his mind flashed through every other term for the thing Shran had in his hand, and if - Shran didn’t also have that, then what the hell were they dealing with, and -
Actually, it was very hard to care with Shran beginning to stroke again, fist wrapping around reddening flesh with confidence Archer couldn’t always fathom. Always so direct, always unafraid. In fact, Shran looked pleased that he was able to render Archer speechless - a far cry from the back-and-forth they’d been having regarding the Vulcan outpost they’d discovered on a moon close to Andoria.
“It seems this trunk controls your nervous system,” Shran remarked absently. Jonathan - sweat on his brow, smile slapped back across his face again - snorted a little.
“What, you - don’t feel good when…” Shran glanced up, hand slowing.
“This makes you feel good?” Archer nodded.
“Makes me wanna -” his hips twitched, as did the length in Shran’s hand. Archer bit back a whine. “C-come.”
“Is that what you call it,” Shran said, clearly amused. His dark eyes narrowed. “Well - it seems to take very little where you’re concerned.” His hand sped up again, and Archer’s mouth fell open, a faint, half-strangled squeak escaping. “You must be quite…fertile.”
“S-so fertile,” Jonathan sighed, not even sure of what he was saying anymore, “come - come plow my field or - what-have-you…humans a-are a - a K-Species, but - c-comparatively…” Shran did something that made black spots dance over Archer’s eyes, and, whimpering, he bucked into the Andorian, urgency mounting. “I guess to other - humanoids, w-we might be more R-Species, and–”
“You’re referring to the rate at which you are able to conceive,” Shran noted. It was infuriating, how unbothered he seemed while having Archer literally in the palm of his hand. “You are in fact able to produce offspring much easier and swifter than Andorians.” If Archer wasn’t mistaken, there was a note of wistfulness in Shran’s voice, lost immediately under the next flurry of words. “That being said, it is imprudent to have your organ out at all times - prepared to procreate at the drop of a hat. If this–”
And his hand squeezed, almost to the point of pain, causing Archer to writhe and yelp before Shran’s other hand released both of his at last. Nose-to-nose with the captain, Shran continued, “is all it takes to render you defenseless? Then you are not nearly as civilized as you pinkskins like to think.” And, as if to prove a point when he saw Jonathan open up his mouth, Shran simply stroked harder and faster with an order of -
“ Come .”
Apparently, he’d picked up on that relatively swiftly.
Archer, meanwhile, was indeed rendered helpless - as he shot hard, gasping and groaning into Shran’s mouth, the Andorian almost idly parting his lips to clamp down with even, bluish teeth on the captain’s bottom lip. White-gray light spilled across Archer’s vision as the Terran went limp in Shran’s grasp, chest heaving.
When he finally surfaced from post-orgasmic bliss, Archer still found himself, mortifyingly, in Shran’s arms.
And all Archer could think of to say - to ask - was a faint, wheezy: “did…did I do good ?”
To his surprise, that inquiry earned him a shockingly soft smile. Little by little, Shran began to disentangle them, his hands on Archer even as the other man all but melted to the floor. Jonathan staggered closer, arms looped around Shran’s shoulders, and the Andorian murmured against his jaw -
“Sufficient,” before pulling away. “You still have a lot to learn.”
“Wait - wha’bout you,” Archer motioned numbly to Shran, whatever he happened to have under all that insulation, and the Andorian smirked anew, antennae lifting - somehow sly.
“You’ll learn,” he said, then sidled back a step or two, leaving Archer slumped against the wall. “But not tonight.”
The door hissed open as the Andorian exited, blessedly missing [Archer hoped] the part where the captain slid down to the floor in a boneless heap, his whole world rocked in more ways than one.