Title: Ogham

Ogham
By kyrdwyn

He is glad of the privileges of rank. Seniority has given him his own cabin, his own bathroom. Staring into the mirror, he knows that if he had a roommate on this mission, he would have been dragged to Sickbay long ago regarding the bruises and bite marks that paint his flesh with irregular blots of color.

He finishes drying after his shower and absently folds the towel, still contemplating the body that is his lover's, his Master's, canvas. His Master rarely inflicts bruises upon him to this degree. They are both aware of the fact that, at any time, he could end up in Sickbay, with the doctor asking questions that neither would wish to answer. For it would mean their relationship would be revealed, and the psychologists in San Francisco would probably have a field day with the news.

Reaching out with one hand, he traces a mark worn by his reflection in the mirror.

Sharp white teeth press into the skin. He whimpers in pain, and his Master makes a sound of pleasure. That sound turns his pain into arousal.

He shakes his head, dispelling the memories that have hardened him. He reaches into his medicine cabinet for the analgesic cream that will numb the bruises, even as it helps them heal faster. He carefully anoints each sign of his Master's love, knowing they will fade all too soon. He doesn't know when they will have such a session as they did this time. Their relationship is usually about psychological mastery, his giving up control of himself and his actions to his Master, letting Him decide when he moves and when he comes.

His Master is of a different rank than he, though it was agreed long ago that their ranks would not pass beyond the threshold of the quarters being used that night. Inside the star-lit quarters, they were Master and beloved, servant and Sir. Outside, the ranks fall into place and no one knows of their love, of his loving submission to Him.

Replacing the cream in the cabinet, he looks at himself again. His Master has only used their intimate relationship against him once in public, but to be fair it was for the good of others, not for personal gain. Even so, He did so in a way that was subtle, something that others would see as natural for them. He had forgiven his Master that evening, knowing that He had only done so to save the lives of others who might have died. Seeing his Master ask for his forgiveness had only made his later submission sweeter. His Master loved him, loved him enough to fight for his humanity first and ask for his forgiveness later.

He picks up a small mirror and holds it behind him. The reflection in the small mirror is duplicated in the larger. He has had other Masters before, but none that he has loved so much, nor One who has loved him so much. He smiles as he sees the Mark of his Master, indelibly imprinted into his flesh. Bruises may fade, bites may heal, but this, this will remain with him always. On the pale flesh of his left buttock, just above where the skin curves inward and rises to meet his back, is a design made of simple lines. It was inked into his skin many years ago on Earth. His Master had asked him to wear His Mark, asked with such love and tenderness that he could not say no. He had been honored to be marked in such a way, a permanent reminder of his Master's love.

He smiles now, putting the mirror down and slipping into his regulation underwear. The blue material completely hides the mark, another sign of his Master's Mercifulness and Wisdom. For it was his Master who chose the location, a place where few would be able to see and ask embarrassing questions of Master's beloved. Particularly the psychologists in San Francisco, who might feel that their relationship was not a good thing for senior officers serving on the pride of Starfleet, the Enterprise. They would not understand their ability to separate the power dynamics of their relationship into two discrete areas - public and private, with nothing crossing that line. Almost nothing, he reminds himself as he shrugs into his undershirt.

He finishes dressing, looking at himself critically in the mirror. He is meeting with his Master for breakfast, and even though they will not be Master and beloved, he still wants to look his best for his beloved. For his Master is his beloved, the One he is as bound to as if they had taken wedding vows. He smiles again. His Master's Mark is as binding as a wedding vow. Perhaps more so.

As he leaves his cabin, slipping back into his rank, he thinks again about the Mark. The design is, in truth, ancient Celtic writing known as ogham. It spells out a single word.

Heading toward the captain's mess, Captain Jonathan Archer wonders what his crew would think if they knew their captain had a tattoo on his buttock that spelled out his Master's name - Trip.

END