A is for Academics, B is for Beer [1/1]
Title: A is for Academics, B is for Beer
Rating: a soft NC-17, and really only that for around a page later on
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Elisabeth, Malcolm/Boylan, a tiny bit of one sided Boylan/Taylor
Word Count: 3188
Summary/Note: A somewhat serious look at an offhand comment about Malcolm and Boylan being unlucky in love until they find each other. Takes place after “What Remains.” Officially sailing a new ship. A little exercise in writing something I've never written before. Many thanks to smackalalala for looking over it for me even though she's sadly Terra Nova deficient.
Malcolm looked across the square, his narrow gaze catching Jim spinning a laughing Elisabeth around so fast her feet barely touched the ground. He exhaled grumpily as he turned back to the group he was standing with, nodding like he had been following the conversation all along.
“I'm surprised you agree with me Doctor Wallace,” the prim woman who had been speaking said. “Last I heard you thought such measures were unnecessarily wasteful, even if they would actually result in a net gain in resources and put us ahead of the game in terms of having the least impact on our new world as possible.”
“Well, yes,” he tried to explain. “Erm, that is, well, you know that as a scientist conservation is very near and dear to my heart. And as long as we can continue to rely on resources coming through the portal than I suppose we can afford to make that extra effort to do whatever you think is best.”
“You didn't really answer my-”
“Oi, Malcolm!” Boylan's voice boomed from behind a makeshift bar that had been set up for the occasion.
“I apologize Madam,” he said sincerely, flashing his most charming smile (which had won him several grants back 85 million years in the future). “Duty calls.” He strode away as quickly as propriety allowed. Once he was safely out of her sight he rolled his eyes and muttered, “What a harpy.”
“Lorna getting to you again?” Boylan asked, though the cheeky grin on his face showed that he knew just how much Malcolm wished the socialite types had been stricken from the lists of eligible colonists.
“One day it's complaining about not having cisterns for every house to conserve rainwater,” he ranted. “The next it's all 'Ooo Malcolm what important experiments you must run in your lab.' I swear that woman never gives up. And I'm not even sure what she's after.”
Boylan looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I can tell ya one thing she's interested in mate.”
Malcolm waved his hands frantically. “Oh no. Not a chance. Not at all. Danger. Warning. Keep out.”
Boylan chuckled. “I'd be the last to warm her sheets, but I've heard quite a few rumours from men in their cups.” He shrugged. “Who knows how many of them are true.”
“Yes, well,” Malcolm said, rocking on his feet. “You called?”
“Just thought I'd get you out of there. Fun though it was to watch you suffer.” Boylan turned to where several crates had been stacked. “If you wouldn't mind helping me move a few of these though, get rid of the empty ones, I'd call us even.”
“I'm just a pair of hands to you aren't I?” Malcolm grumbled, though he reached for two empty crates.
“Not just,” Boylan replied. “There's also your arms, legs, and that scrub on your head you call hair.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“Everything okay over here boys?” Jim Shannon's voice rang out.
“Boys?” Boylan echoed incredulously.
“You think you'd have enough of that with your boy running about like a bull in a china shop,” Malcolm teased.
“Gentlemen,” Elisabeth said, walking up and placing her hand on Jim's shoulder. She turned to Jim and said, “Sorry I got sidetracked. Our neighbours wanted to ask me to remind Josh to not trample through their plants. Again.” She shook her head. “Some things never change, whatever the environment.”
Malcolm just grinned at Jim. Point made.
Elisabeth turned her focus back onto Malcolm and Boylan. “Well, don't you look happy.”
“Not a crime to enjoy a night out on the town,” Boylan told her cheerfully. “A night out on the town with the town as it were.”
“No, it's not a crime,” Jim agreed, shifting his weight around as though he'd rather be doing anything else than engaging in polite conversation with Malcolm and Boylan. “But speaking of night, isn't it about time we go collect Zoe?”
“I suppose you're right,” Elisabeth said. “Goodnight.”
They turned and walked away, Jim's arm slung around her waist.
“So that's why you're not interested in Lorna,” Boylan said quietly.
Malcolm resisted the childish impulse to stick his tongue out at him. More effort than he really cared to go to in any case. “Well I don't see her trying to sink her claws into you,” he grumbled, anxiously furrowing his hair with his right hand.
“O-oh she knows better than to try,” Boylan told him.
Malcolm thought he heard a distracted hitch in Boylan's voice, but chalked it up to an overactive imagination. What was there for Boylan to be distracted by? He narrowed his gaze as if his stare could pierce right through his head and divine the secret to keeping unwanted harpies away. Though he couldn't think of any occasion where harpies would ever be wanted. Perhaps to distract your worst enemy. They should sic Lorna on the Sixers. Annoy Mira to death.
Boylan snorted and took a big swig from the stein in his hand. “I am entirely too sober for that conversation,” he said, correctly interpreting Malcolm's gaze.
“You know saying that only makes me want to find out more,” Malcolm told him.
Boylan looked over at the pile of crates Malcolm was stacking. “Done sorting the empties then?”
“Yes your highness,” Malcolm mocked.
“It's good to be the king,” Boylan replied with a wink. He turned to where a guy was handing out refreshments to the colonists. “You got it under control here Louis? We're going to haul these crates back to the bar. Less to do later.”
“On it boss,” Louis replied.
Malcolm and Boylan each grabbed an armload of crates and made their way over to the back of Boylan's bar where a handful of empty crates were already waiting. Boylan turned one crate over, frowning. “Broken. I'll have someone bring it in to Recycling tomorrow then.” No matter where the goods came from, every citizen of Terra Nova was keenly aware of the potential scarcity of resources. An entire division under the direction of the Resources Committee was dedicated to finding new ways to use old materials, or how to recycle broken materials. As he tossed it into a far corner he yelped. “Fucking hell! Bloody thing was sharp.”
“Paper cut getting you down?” Malcolm teased. He peered over at Boylan's hand and frowned. “That actually looks quite deep.” He tilted his head towards the interior of the bar. “Got a med kit in there somewhere?”
“Behind the main bar, near the till,” Boylan replied, as he pressed his other hand against the cut.
Malcolm swiftly made his way into the bar, scanning each of the shelves near the til. He squinted, spotting a pouch with a red cross on it jammed behind a metal box. Crouching down he reached for the pouch, trying to wriggle it free. No matter how hard he pulled the damn thing didn't want to come free. He gave it one final firm yank, falling to the ground as the metal box fell to the floor with a clatter, scattering its paper contents all around. The pouch flew over his head, knocking over a few bottles on the shelves behind him like an old carnival game. He ducked just in time to avoid several of the plastic missiles raining down.
The commotion must have drawn Boylan's attention as he called out, “Everything alright in there?”
“Found it!” Malcolm called out, trying to cover up the indignity of his gaffe with the volume of his voice. He turned his attention to the contents of the box, trying to return them to their proper place. He quickly but carefully placed the papers back into the box before stopping suddenly at one of them. It was a photo, a rare real photo, but one whose glossiness had faded over time. It had clearly been folded and unfolded many times over the years, so many creases crossing its surface that some of the subject matter had been obscured by wear. The focus was on two bare-chested men who were looking at the camera, arms slung around each other. The look on their faces showed a clear sense of pride, of accomplishment at having conquered some arduous task. The messy scene behind them seemed to indicate some sort of construction project. One man's hand crossed over to rest on the other man's side, speaking to a greater intimacy with the man's abs than would be common between friends. Lovers perhaps.
“Malcolm?” Boylan's voice called as he entered the room.
He took a quick look at the faces of the men. One of them was a total stranger, but the other man? Boylan? He shoved it back in the box and closed the lid, wincing as he didn't move his hand out of the way in time. His injured hand reflexively flung the lid back open again just as Boylan came around the bar and looked down at the mess.
“What are you doing with that?” Boylan asked, his voice descending into a growl.
“The pouch was jammed behind it,” Malcolm explained. “Seems the latch busted when it fell. I apologize. I tried to put it all back like I found it.”
Boylan sighed, his anger evidently slayed by the sincerity in Malcolm's voice. “My own damn fault I suppose. Should keep the box back at my place.”
Malcolm squinted up at him. “I know it's none of my business,” he began hesitantly, continuing only when Boylan didn't protest, “But was that a photo of you in there?” He pointed back to the box, the photo innocently laying on top. “It's not often you see a real photo anymore. Must've been something special to commemorate it like that.”
“It was,” Boylan replied shortly.
When it was clear that no further explanation was coming, Malcolm's curiosity couldn't resist prodding the situation further. “Explains why you haven't fallen prey to Lorna then.”
Boylan bristled defensively. “And you've got a problem with that?”
“Oh goodness no.” Malcolm waved off the idea. “That's all 20th/21st century nonsense. Besides it would be hardly fair of me. And who am I to criticize? If you find love in the same place that love finds you...”
“Well if you're done blathering on like a woman,” Boylan said, “I'm still bleeding here.” He held up his injured hand as proof, two blood-stained fingers from his other hand still keeping pressure on it.
“Oh, right.” Malcolm brushed aside a few plastic bottles and jumped up. He recovered the first-aid kit from where it sat and rummaged through it for bandages.
“I can see to that myself,” Boylan told him as he pulled out the necessary supplies.
Malcolm rolled his eyes as he opened a package of gauze. “This is a two-hand job. And you can't very well do that with only one good hand.”
“I bow to your flawless logic.” He removed his other hand to allow Malcolm to properly dress the wound. “Though sometimes one hand's all you need,” he joked.
“You would know,” Malcolm said plainly, his focus dedicated to cleaning the cut.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Boylan sniped back with an amused snort.
“So you assume,” Malcolm countered, still intent on his task of wrapping a bandage around Boylan's hand. “Plenty of men and women find knowledge quite sexy. Not to mention my spectacular head of hair.”
“Fair point,” Boylan allowed.
Malcolm slowed his pace as he finished up, some latent instinct making its wish known that he tarry a little longer. Ignoring it he firmly tied the gauze in place, and checked over his work. He trailed his fingers along the path of the bandage, making sure that it was firmly secured. When he reached the end he looked up at Boylan. “Should do you well, at least until you can get that checked out at the clinic.”
“Good,” Boylan murmured.
Malcolm took a good long look at him, hoping what he was about to do wouldn't be wildly off target. “I'm going to give you til the count of three to stop me,” he said, slowly counting in his head. At three he gently placed Boylan's injured hand on the counter-top and pinned him back against the hard surface. His lips slid over Boylan's as he ground into him, each movement bringing them closer and closer but still not quite close enough.
Boylan moaned, all the approval Malcolm needed.
Malcolm nipped at Boylan's mouth as he thrust his tongue in. His mouth tasted faintly of the home-brewed alcohol he had been drinking earlier, notes of citrus still lingering like a reverberating line of song. Malcolm's erection rose quickly as he fell into the reckless abandonment of pursuing his pleasure. A mutual pleasure judging by Boylan's equally assertive erection.
Boylan brought his other hand up, drawing Malcolm closer, securing himself between the other man and the counter.
“Fuck I've missed this,” Malcolm murmured as their lips broke apart, bodies still draped together. He couldn't honestly say he'd considered this before, but what was it they said about life's unexpected pleasures? Well whatever the saying was it certainly wasn't important now.
“Less talking, more...more,” Boylan said, his hips insistently jerking towards friction with Malcolm's.
He pushed back against Boylan, more insistent, his lips searching over the plane of his skin, summoning forth bursts of pleasure. One hand strayed from its position against the counter and snaked down to the belt of Boylan's khakis, flipping the button open. He knelt as he stripped the other man from the waist down. He licked his lips before he took Boylan's cock in his mouth, cautiously swirling his tongue over the head, trying to gauge just what he liked.
“Nibble,” Boylan ordered in a light moan, twirling his fingers in Malcolm's hair.
So that explained the earlier hitch in Boylan's voice. Evidently he had thought about this before. Malcolm gently nibbled the sensitive organ, alternating his movements with faint breaths, opening his mouth wider and letting the air echo across excited nerve endings. His attention was rewarded with a delighted growl of pleasure, which shot right down to his own arousal, stiffening it even more. He alternated his tongue's strokes. Fast and slow. Soft and hard. Boylan's hand light on his head let him know when he did something particularly pleasurable, his fingers tensing as Malcolm hit just the right spot.
Boylan's hips twitched, thrusting deeper into Malcolm's mouth. “Not going to last much longer,” he said, his breath ragged.
Malcolm lightened up, moving his mouth back just as Boylan grunted once and climaxed. Malcolm managed to swallow most of it just before the sound of footsteps fell on the stairs outside. “Shit!” he whispered, ducking down behind the counter as Skye's boots came into view.
Boylan moved a little slower, still caught unawares when Skye's voice called, “You guys down here?” Luckily, for both their sakes, his shirt and the counter obscured the view just enough for her not to notice anything out of the ordinary. “They were worried something might have happened so they sent me to check.”
“Everything's good here,” Boylan said, his voice tinged with a fervent desire that she not come any closer. Bending down to zip up now would look nothing short of suspicious.
“Just made a little mess,” Malcolm assured her, wiping at his mouth with one sleeve. He stood up and smiled reassuringly. “We'll be out in a moment as soon as we've cleaned up.”
“Need any help with that?” Skye asked.
Malcolm shook his head. “Nope, we're all good here I think. Go ahead and tell them we'll be back in a few minutes. Don't want to leave this a mess for tomorrow you understand.”
“Well, if you're sure,” Skye said.
“We'll be there in a bit,” Boylan echoed. “Bit of a cock-up but it's nearly sorted.”
Skye shrugged. “Alright then.”
Boylan waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded before he quickly bent down and re-zipped his khakis.
Malcolm looked at him incredulously. “Cock-up? Really? Did you want her to find out or something?”
Boylan shrugged, a look of genuine apologetic innocence on his face. “So that was a poor choice of words. All the same though. She left quick enough.”
Malcolm set to replacing the bottles he had knocked over with his inadvertent med kit slingshot as Boylan returned the box and pouch to their normal positions, this time placing the more important med kit within easier reach. Malcolm briefly ran his hands under the sink's cleansing spray and looked around, double-checking that everything was in its proper place, including their clothing. “Look good?” he asked Boylan.
“Close enough for government work, as they say,” Boylan replied with a chuckle at his own cleverness.
“Speaking of government work,” Malcolm said, a remark from earlier resurfacing in his mind, “Your fallout with Taylor?”
“Mostly unrelated,” Boylan stated, his amused face turned nigh to stone. “As I got to know him better I knew there was little point in holding onto such a notion.” He shrugged. “Can't blame a guy for hoping though. Even for those arms alone.”
Malcolm nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned towards the exit, conscious that he had clearly touched on some old wounds, “Ready to go then?”
Boylan gestured for him to lead the way.
Neither of them said anything as they made their way back to the party. While it was the 22nd century, or at least it used to be, there was an unspoken understanding between them that until they could define this new aspect to their relationship, no one else deserved to know. Jim would tease them mercilessly because he had already established his position as the colony clown, but for the most part people would be fine with it.
“What happened there?” Elisabeth asked as they walked up, immediately spotting the wrapping on Boylan's hand.
Malcolm was glad they at least had a feasible cover story. “Cut his hand on a broken crate,” he explained. “Wrapped it up best I could, though I'm afraid anything more is your department.” He flashed his usual charming smile at her, though this time it felt a little less full of its old tide of romantic jealousy.
Elisabeth smiled politely back. “Well I guess he owes you one then for your conscientious work.”
Malcolm nodded, trying to suppress a sly grin at her comment which so suited their other activities. “That he does. That he does.”