Honeymoon Journey (and Delights) – Day One
Author's Notes: In the end of my last story, “Destiny,” in the gloss, speaking of the analogies between the story of Trip and T'Pol and the story of Eros and Psyche, I wrote:
. . . The name of Eros and Psyche’s daughter, as Zeus says, is "Voluptuousness". It means . . . well, what it means; but also something extra: the "Voluptuousness" of going on, of going ahead, and of going beyond.
Finally, (I’m joking again), there is the behaviour of the parents of Voluptuousness (Eros and Psyche)—their quite “hot” lovemaking. (You must read Lucius Apuleius.) . . . And who knows if this also fits for Trip and T’Pol?
If you enjoyed my story and if you will be so kind as to read the next fics I try to write, well, then you will know the answer.
After such a lot of angst, some tender, hot love is probably welcome!
It seems to me that a few of you appreciated my Fic. So I did want to honour my promise. And what a better way could there be than to narrate something more about the tender (and hot) Honeymoon of our couple? (Do you remember, if you read it, my second Fic – ”Honeymoon” (NC-17)?)
So an idea slowly materialized. Why not relate some of the moments of their Honeymoon vacation? This idea intrigued me and so . . . voilŕ! . . . Here is the first moment (and delights) of Trip and T'Pol on their Honeymoon vacation.
This first moment is only tender, very tender. Not hot. But, for people who desire a bit of hard core loving . . . I promise: this will arrive too.
In any case I hope you enjoy my effort.
Notes: The words in italic between (*___*) represent the thoughts.
Thanks (much thanks): To justTrip’n for helping me express myself in a language that is not my first language and for her immense patience, her ability to read my thoughts, and her endless sweetness.
It is late, in this grey and rainy morning, the morning after our wedding night.
We made love all night and more.
I have never been open to him in my body and in my soul, like this night.
I have never belonged to him, like this night.
And he to me.
We fell asleep late, after the light of the day was breaking into the room, and we slept, tight against each other, until late.
We woke up together, in each other arms, nude, cold, . . . and in love.
We enjoyed such intense closeness, such deep intimacy, while the damp smell of the rain evoked unusual and strange feelings, unknown to me, but at the same time sweet and . . . rich.
Yearning suggestions, which call up something in me. I know not what.
We cling together, the craving and the passion of the night now fading, diluted in a tender desire of delicate caresses.
I keep my head on his chest, nuzzling against him, relishing the heat of his skin, basking happy with astounded joy in the peaceful and safe strength of his embrace, with closed eyes, breathing quiet into the reassuring warmth of his arms around me.
I am taking delight and enjoyment in the wonderful sensation of his lips, which are gently stroking my skin, laying small and tender kisses on my hair, on my temples and on my forehead.
I am warming up at the fond touch of his fingers, which are softly stroking my arms.
I am going into rapture, wrapped by his unmistakable and comforting smell.
I am borne away in the sound of his words, whispered in my ear, low and sweet, before his mouth lovingly caresses and nibbles a tip, arousing in me a languid pleasure.
Words of love.
We remain so a long time, listening to the silvery noise of the raindrops, which are tapping on the old tiles of the roof of this ancient farmhouse, secluded among the hills of the Tuscan countryside.
Finally, with a last soft kiss, he gently breaks the hug.
He sits up on the edge of the bed, covering my body with the blanket to make me warm.
Then he turns and climbs back over me, one leg resting on the bed, knee bent; the other dangling behind; his arms stretched out to support his weight; his palms flat upon the bed to either side of me. He hovers above me grinning with a sweetness that warms me. I lie languidly in the shelter of his torso, my head rested upon the cushion, my arms on the blanket, my hands upon his forearms, my fingertips delicately brushing his skin almost of their own accord.
He bends down onto me, his lips reach my lips, very slowly, and he brushes them sweetly, fondly against mine, while talking quietly, under his breath.
“It's time to get up. The lov’n is... well... unbelievable, but I want you to see all this place has to offer. The views, the towns, the architecture...” — His voice dropped lower, — “... the food... the wine...” — His tone was sweetly teasing and I could not prevent myself from smiling, slightly, my lips yet on his, as light as a feather — “Maybe we better get ourselves cleaned up and out the door! How ‘bout I use the shower first. You lie there and be lazy a while longer. Enjoy the bed! Isn’t it luxurious?”
(*”Enjoy the bed? . . . Me? . . . A Vulcan? . . . I suppose, since this is our honeymoon, a human custom I want to share with him, that I can admit . . . I DO enjoy this! Very much!*)
So I nod solemnly and my lips brush against his mouth.
He sighs and finally is able to separate from me. He jumps up to find his robe, which is on the floor.
While laying my eyes on my hands, I see the ring displayed on my fourth finger. My wedding ring . . .
With an instinctive gesture, I stretch my arm in the air, spreading the fingers to better watch this alien object so meaningful to my T’hai’la . . . and to me.
Just this moment, he turns back, noticing what I am doing.
A bright, shining, and open smile broadens on his face. It is very sweet, but different somehow from the teasing smiles he’s always used to annoy and charm me.
It is a smile of unquestionable devotion . . . of an unlimited, indestructible love reverberating, powerful and strong, in my mind and in my soul through the bond.
Something has wrung my heart. Something beautiful, splendid, gorgeous, wonderful; but also so intense, deep, forceful, potent as to be violent, almost painful.
I feel I may be consumed with love, in this our first honeymoon morning.
I follow him with my gaze till he reaches the bathroom.
He opens the door and, before entering, turns back to look at me, his eyes shining and laughing.
He speaks again, low and grinning. "Those beautiful pointed ears . . .”
Pretending annoyance, I lift an eyebrow. “My ears have no special qualities. They are like the ears of every other Vulcan.”
"Of course!” - His grin has become mischievous – “"That’s what I think as I lick and nibble them. What . . . ordinary . . Vulcan ears you have.”
A pleasant shudder sneaks down my spine, as I re-live, with my body and my mind, the sensations he is alluding to.
Once more I marvel — just so! — at his power over me and . . . at my enjoyment of his power . . . over me.
With that teasing and arrogant grin yet on his face, he winks at me, and I perceive that the corners of my lips are inexorably curling into a smile.
Then, becoming serious, but still with that sparkling in his blue eyes, he speaks. His voice is convinced and firm. “I love you, T’Pol.”
I melt, in ecstasies; my voice chokes in my throat. I am unable even . . . to raise my eyebrows.
He turns and goes in the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind him.
He disappears from my view, leaving me alone, with my . . . inner feelings.
I stayed so for some time, musing in the bed's warmth, with open eyes, my thoughts wandering.
Lazily, without too much zeal, I try to set in order these thoughts. My mind needs a bit of the quiet logic I was safely living in before we meet . . .before we became lovers and bond-mates.
And then something weird happens . . .
Little by little, anxiety grows inside me.
A strange sensation, an emotion, a kind of interior turmoil, a sort of unknown tremor of the heart.
I pull up to sit on the bed, letting my look roam around, attempting to breath calm and steady according to the honoured Vulcan practice, to quell this tormenting feeling.
But it doesn’t work.
I am forced to pull back the blanket and get out of the bed into a more open area of the room.
I begin walking the floor, which has become a habit for me in recent times, since I’ve bonded with him.
I realize I am nude and I reach for the wardrobe. I open its door and I take out my robe, sliding into it and belting it at my waist, quickly and in agitation.
I reach the veranda door and open it. I come out in the open, in the air of the morning, moist from the rain. Here is a smell, a sensation, never felt by me; this dampness is not a part of my home-world, neither of my life.
And now I am here, standing in the veranda adorned with flowers that I don't know, looking at the hills that are smokey from the raindrops falling from the sky; on my skin, the cold of a world that is not my own.
The air smells unfamiliar to me.
Scent of leaves wet by the rain?
Scent of musk so foreign to me?
Scents of grasses and of trees, and oppressive and ripe fragrances of flowers that don't exist on my planet.
What’s this thing I feel inside?
This thing that consumes me, that I don't understand, that I am not capable of defining?
It seems almost like . . . apprehension . . . or fear . . .
Fear of what? That could all this end? That I could loose what I have? . . . What I never would have thought I might have . . .
Suddenly it invades my mind — the terrifying image of my T’hai’la’s body on the bio-bed, stricken with that fatal viral disease which already had killed Hoshi and, immediately after, come the horrible memories and the shocking and terrible visions of that second awful day, . . . when we found him so atrociously mangled . . . lifeless, moribund . . . *
Shutting my eyes and folding my arms firmly against my chest, I try to breathe rhythmically and deeply, in the attempt to chase away those images and those memories from my brain.
(*It has passed! It is over! Now I am here, with my Ashayam! It is absurd to fear the past. It is necessary to live in the present. We must think about the future, but it is illogical to fear the future, about which we don't know anything. I must stop having these stupid . . . illogical . . . thoughts. I am Vulcan! *)
I am Vulcan . . .
Of course . . .
I . . . am Vulcan.
And I feel fear.
I am scared and afraid.
For what reason? Why?
Perhaps . . . because now I am different. Far from the woman I was . . . and will never be again.
Because now I am a Vulcan woman who feels . . .Who feels fear . . . and love . . . and happiness.
Happiness . . .
It is passing and sparkling vivid in my head the sensations of the irresistible passion of the night and of the tender sweetness of the morning . . . of the amazing and gorgeous intimacy of the many moments of love I shared with my T’hai’la . . . of the warm, soft, safe and unfailing certainty of our bond.
Happiness . . .
Love . . .
Fear . . .
And a lot of other emotions that I searched for and I found, risking my health and my sanity; and also my life.
The emotions . . . that I wanted for his sake . . . And only with him and by him can I control them.
I . . . a Vulcan . . .
Is all this fair?
Is it . . . logical?
Of course it is!
And then . . . what does it mean?
I am . . . the woman I am!
I followed my way.
Because the logic . . . most certainly! . . . the logic wanted so!
Because my destiny . . .
Destiny? DESTINY? There is NO destiny!
There are only our choices!
But . . . I didn't choose!
I fell in love . . . Yes! It's so!
I fell in love . . .
Because destiny wanted it so.
And me too... I wanted it so.
In the end . . . I chose . . .
My logic . . . was love!
I followed my heart . . .
And so now I am here, on a world far from mine; with a man who is not from my race and with whom I decided (or destiny did) to share my life.
One man born on another planet, one man different from me and from what I am.
And still I gave this man my whole self; denying, resisting, fighting; but, in the end, I gave myself, totally and utterly, without reserve and without bounds.
I . . . I . . . am afraid.
Why is there something clutching inside of me?
All is going well!
I did want this.
what is now gripping and pulling at my gut?
I close my eyes, trying to dominate the uproar within.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, soft and light, strong and gentle, warm and comforting and at once. Suddenly I calm down.
That hand . . . I know that hand!
I lift my eyelids and slowly I turn so I can see his face.
He stares into my eyes and, like always . . . like always . . . he understands.
He understands I am in need and, like always, he understands how to meet my need.
Like always he is “all ears” for me!
His left hand again on my right shoulder, he places his right hand under my chin and gently lifts my head, and lowers his, until our mouths meet.
He lightly his lips, laying upon my mouth a sweet, soft, tender kiss, full of love.
Then he lifts the head and again he gazes at me, and he smiles . . .
That same smile, the one heats and melts my heart.
The knot inside me is dissolved, the uproar is dissipated.
I shut my eyes, while with his right hand he delicately strokes my cheek.
I tilt my head slightly to better feel his touch, while my right hand, almost of its own accord, places itself upon his left, still laid sweetly and lightly on my left shoulder.
I open my eyes again and I look at him . . . and I feel my love for him is growing inside me.
Never again, never again . . . will I be alone. He will always be at my side, helping and supporting . . . and loving me, even when he doesn’t understand.
His left hand, my right still upon it, doesn’t let go of my shoulder. His free hand sweeps through the air, gesturing broadly; his look turns towards the sky.
The rain has stopped.
The weather is returning to serene.
Appearing in the sky, little by little, is a resplendent rainbow, which dazzles tenuously.
He points at the Sun — his Sun . . . our Sun — which now is glittering high.
Then, he lowers his right hand again to caress my cheek, staring tenderly at me.
I seize his hand with my left and I squeeze it.
Then, suddenly, joyously, I embrace him, shutting my eyes. But they are wide open in this wonderful, amazing, incredible dream of love.
He returns my hug, enfolding me with his arms, his chin on my head, buried on his chest.
“Honey, it is all right! I love you! I am here beside you and together with you, like I always am and forever will be! “– His voice is a spell for me – “I think you’d better get ready for the day.” His voice is lower now, irreverent, teasing, with enchanting glamour – for the food, for the wine . . . for the second night!”
He’s irritating, thoughtless, mocking, stubborn, baffling, unpredictable, volatile, annoying, irreverent, emotional, illogical . . . marvellous!
He’s my refuge, my trusted haven, my safe shelter . . . my drug, my Trellium-D . . .my love, my beloved, my T’hai’la, my Ashal-veh, my Ashayam, my Bond-Mate . . . my adored husband!
I break off the hug, I take his head between my hands and draw it towards mine.
I raise myself up on the tips of my toes.
I kiss him.
Yes! It’s true! It’s just so! – fearless awareness, astonished joy and endless pride are glowing in my mind and in my heart, permeating my thoughts with logic perfect and absolute — my logic . . . the logic of our love! — I am different and far from the woman I was. Because now I am and forever I will be the woman of this man, Trip!
This was only the first moment of the Honeymoon vacation (and delights) of Trip and T'Pol. Others will follow, if you want. I have found a vein.
* This is a reference to my story ”Destiny” (Rated NC-17, for violence and one disturbing scene.)
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