The patches of green on his jeans earn him a few strange looks from his room-mate, but to his credit, he doesn't ask. Trip isn't sure if he's pleased by that or not, because although he knows he shouldn't, he's bursting to tell *someone*. It isn't everyday you get grass stains with Jonathan Archer, but to Trip's own credit, he doesn't tell.
He takes the jeans off as soon as he gets home though, hanging them back in the wardrobe, rather than putting them in the wash and that’s probably not something he should do either, but he figures they'll be his only memoir, he doubts Archer will let it happen again. Which really, is a great pity...
Trip can still remember how good Archer felt pressed on top of him, strong, but not over powering, if Trip wanted, he could have fought back, but he really had no desire too. No, he really liked being right where he was, pinned into the soft, damp, spring-green grass a counterpoint to the hard body on top of him.
Just thinking about it made Trip twitch with interest, but he didn't think he could do anything again so soon, Archer had wrung him out, completely. He'd focused on Trip in a way no one ever had, it was dizzying, but not at all unpleasant. It had left Trip tired, stated and happy.
"If I ask why Jonathan Archer just turned up on our doorstop, wearing very familiar looking grass stains, will you hit me?" his room-mate asked, barging right on into his room. Trip was glad he was still wearing his boxers, because he could see Archer just behind Alex and his green eyes are alight with bemusement.
"Alex, shoo." Trip manages, because hey, what else is he suppose to say when his walking wet dream is standing looking at him in his boxers and Alex is standing between them.
"Okay, Okay, I can take a hint, don't do anything I wouldn't do... or maybe you already did." Alex leaves with a wink worthy of any drag-queen and seconds after they hear the front door closing, both men laugh.
"I'm sorry about him. I'll keep him in line I promise." Trip said, because, chances were, Archer had come here to tell him that what they did was once-only, never to be repeated, spoken off, thought about, ever again and he wanted to at least be able to tell him that he could do that, possibly salvage a good working relationship with Archer still respecting him.
"Oh I'm sure he's already told half the street by now, I wouldn't worry about it. Nothing people wouldn't figure out eventually... that is, if you don't mind me coming around?" And it was phrased like a question, but was there really any answer other than...
"Hell no! I don't mind!" Which Trip barely had time to say before Archer was kissing him, claiming him, like before, but this time Trip turned the tables, pushing Archer onto the bed, the grass strains on Archer's clothes turning patches of pristine white sheet green.
Trip would be saving those sheets too, for posterity, he'd say later, years later, when they were too old, had too many creaky bones to get any new grass stains. Because even if they got down to get them, they'd have a hellish time getting up, but that was okay, because grass stains or not, Archer still feels damn good pressing him down and after thirty years, that's more than enough.