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"One and Two"
Rating: NC-17 T'Pol hesitated, not that anyone observing her would know. Her calm demeanor and serene expression seemed changeless to the majority of the Enterprise crew; nonetheless, a few closer and more perceptive individuals knew the high planes of her face well enough to sense turmoil under the surface. A good deal of her current confusion stemmed from the proximity of the Chief engineer, Commander Tucker. He was hanging by his knees from one of the catwalk guide rails, his attention fixed on a stubborn section of panel on the wall. The position might have seemed unnatural or uncomfortable for anyone else, but Trip Tucker's muscular legs were locked securely around the tubing rail; he carried the grace of purposeful athleticism, even while hanging upside down. "Commander Tucker?--" T'Pol inquired, looking up into his face. He smiled briefly before replying, "Sub Commander. What brings you down to the bowels of Engineering?" "I have the results of the warp coil casing stress test and there are indications that we may need to reinforce sections of the nacelles." "Really? Where?" Trip demanded, clenching the socket wrench in his teeth and taking the report from her hands. He spun it to line up with his perspective while T'Pol waited. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you were right side up?" she ventured. Trip shook his head. "Wastes too 'uch time and I'd have to get 'ack to this 'anel anyway . . ." he muttered through the tool in his teeth. He flipped through the pages on the clipboard while she waited. Finally, he gave a nod and took the wrench out of his mouth, handing the papers back. "I don't see any information 'bout temperature extremes, not even projections." "Those will be finalized in a few hours," T'Pol told him. He nodded, turning his attention back to the panel for a moment. T'Pol didn't move, and finally Trip shifted his gaze to her again. "I will bring the reports to you later this evening," she muttered. "Okay . . ." came his absent reply. T'Pol tried again. "Later." A light dawned on Trip and the blush on his fair face went well with his soft grin. "Right. Laaaaaater," he drawled in a low voice. "Yes, later," T'Pol repeated uneasily, trapped in a verbal loop. Trip laughed and once again went back to the bolts on the panel. She left engineering, refusing to acknowledge the tingling heat between her thighs, wondering if her second encounter with the Chief Engineer would be as interesting as the first had been. *** *** *** 'Later' turned out to be closer to midnight; T'Pol had no intention of anyone noticing her visit to Chief Tucker's cabin, and waited until she was sure the corridors were empty. She argued with herself that the reasons for her delay were logical--as an alien and a member of the bridge staff she could not afford to lose the respect of the crew. The truth lay deeper than that, and she refused to harbor it for more than a second or two. Her fever was rising. She was not afraid of Commander Tucker . . . exactly. Ninety-seven percent of the time he was merely another officer of the ship. But for that dark and lovely three percent . . . She knocked softly, and winced when the tinny intercom system seemed to blare as his voice drawled, "Com'on in." She slipped inside quickly, clutching the clipboard hard enough to crease the pages under her fingers. The room was surprisingly pleasing to the eye and she stopped short, looking with interest at the decor. Sand colored walls, and a thick blue carpet gave the room an airy openness. The only light shone over the desk, which was buried under a neat collection of manuals, journals, and design schematics. Pinned over the desk were a few crayon drawings that she recognized as the handiwork of his nephew. Dangling form the ceiling in one corner--she stepped closer to examine the unexpectedly lovely mobile. Eight small sailboats drifted in slow circles, orbiting through the air in a delicate frame of nylon fishing line and bamboo rods. The boats themselves were tiny masterpieces of work, each a different style. She was tempted to exhale a breath and make them move faster. "Like it? It took me about three weeks to make each boat," Trip murmured, looking up from the chair at the desk. T'Pol reluctantly turned her gaze down to him. "It is an artistic accomplishment," she told him sincerely. He shrugged, pleased despite his modesty. He was bare-chested, wearing his flannel pajama pants, and nothing else. Her lips tightened. Since her first encounter with him, her sensitivity to his pheromones had transformed. The rest of the crew was still acidic to her nose; Trip Tucker was enticing. The very scent of his skin could make her pulse jump. "Thanks." He tried to take the report from her hand, tugging lightly until she reluctantly let go of it. "Little tense, are we?" he asked, scanning the report. She cleared her throat. "Although we have come to an . . . arrangement, Commander, I am still not . . ." "-- Real comfortable with physical contact," he finished for her in an absent tone. His eyes never left the paper, but he continued speaking. "I know. Pour yourself some tea while I look this over." T'Pol looked around, and spotted the thermal teapot and cups on the dresser. As she moved to pour a cup, the soothing steam of green tea rose up and she inhaled it gratefully. Trip was still engrossed in the report, mumbling to himself. "Tensile strength . . . no, that can't be right . . . " "Do you wish a cup?" "Hmm? Oh no, thanks . . .. Are you sure about this metallurgy section? I can't believe these figures." T'Pol came over, cup in hand and glanced down at the paper in Trip's hands. "The only data available is based on projections from Starfleet shipyard. I doubt they have taken into account some of the stressors we have faced in the last four months." Trip sighed, and tossed the papers onto the desk, then ran a hand through his hair. "No use fretting about it I guess. I'll just have to get some of my people to compile some of the current readings and update Starfleet." "Logical," she offered. He gave a lazy smile at her use of the word. Lounging back, he crossed his arms behind his head, looked at her and asked, "T'Pol, how many naked men have you seen in your life?" She didn't spill the tea, but the cup rattled a tiny bit. "Is there a reason for your question?" "Nosiness," he cheerfully admitted. "A human trait that gets me into trouble a lot of the time." "Three," she told him primly, taking a sip of tea. Trip arched an eyebrow at her and she let his question hang in the air for a moment before adding, "One was a cadaver for an anatomy seminar, one was a model in an art class." "Art class? " intrigued, Trip sat up. "Life Studies?" "Yes. Our model was an elderly Tellurian with one tusk. I received an assessment of 'commendable' on my charcoal sketch of him." T'Pol mused. She sipped her tea again, and Trip rolled his eyes. "So it works out to a dead man, an old man and--" "--You. A slight improvement on your predecessors." She refused to meet his eyes; Trip thought about getting offended, and took a deep breath instead. He reached up and took the cup from her, setting on top of the papers on the desk. "There's no shame in admitting you're nervous. Hell, *I'm* nervous. I just wanted to give you a chance to know a little more about the-- mechanics--of it all." By the time he finished speaking, he was in full blush. T'Pol could feel the heat rise from him, and a responding surge touched her own face. "A chance to indulge my own curiosity?" she whispered. Trip nodded, suddenly dry-mouthed. T'Pol closed her eyes desperately trying to will away the fire burning under her stomach. "It would seem to be a wise course of action . . ." Trip laughed. "On earth we call it, 'show me yours and I'll show you mine." "Very well," she replied with a steadiness she certainly didn't feel. Swiftly, before she could change her mind, she reached up behind her back and tugged the zipper down. Stunned, Trip watched her efficiently slip out of the cat suit and boots, then fold it neatly. She dropped her outfit on the desk, inches from his hand. A strange sensation flowed through her, rising from her core to the outer surface of her skin. She felt the coolness of the cabin air against her bare flesh. "I assume that you have seen more than three naked female bodies," she murmured, looking down into his wide blue eyes. PART TWO "I assume that you have seen more than three naked female bodies," she murmured, looking down into his wide blue eyes. "Huh? Oh . . .yeah . . ." came his strained and highly distracted reply. The sound of his quickened breathing put T'Pol's senses under meltdown but she kept her voice even as she remarked, "Then obviously you are not seeing anything particularly new." Trip sat up and moved closer, his gaze so intense she could practically feel the weight of it on her flesh. His face was barely two inches from her naval, his warm breath brushing against her creamy skin. "Darlin', *everything* about you is new to me," he slowly murmured in a low, awed voice. "Sleek, streamlined, a perfect balance of form to function . . ." T'Pol slid a hand down her hip; he caught her thin wrist in the circle of his thumb and fingers, his touch cool. " . . . Lightweight, but strong enough to comfortably support a man . . ." His words lit tiny fires across her stomach, and T'Pol arched her neck. A squeeze on her wrist conveyed a direction; she turned her back to him. " . . . Luxuriously upholstered and nicely maintained." His breath warmed the small of her back and she shivered as her nipples hardened. " . . . Oh yeah, you've got a hell of a chassis, girl. Let's check under the hood." Unsure of what this meant, she faced him again. Trip laid his hands possessively on her hips, and let them slide around the curve of her rump as he pulled her forward. T'Pol sucked in a sharp breath as his nose bumped against her flat abdomen. His tongue flicked out, lightly tasting her skin. Against her will, she gave a tiny sigh, and her hands shot to grip his shoulders. Trip ignored them, and leisurely pressed soft licking kisses in a southern direction. T'Pol trembled, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer; sensing that hesitation, he tightened his grip on her bottom; his tongue teased the soft fur between her thighs. Coherent thought seemed impossible and T'Pol was barely aware of his lifting her to the desk, sweeping aside papers, books and her teacup. His kisses never stopped as he worked his broad shoulders between her knees. Lightly, deftly his tongue found the pink bud and slid over it. T'Pol hissed, arching backward, hands behind her. Trip let his hands stroke her thighs as he continued to swirl his tongue. She began to gasp in broken sighs; her face turned upward as finally, a long strangled moan escaped her full lips. Trip pressed a last kiss to the inside of her right thigh as he sat back in the chair and waited. She opened her eyes a moment later, looking down at him, her eyes brilliant and wide. "Show me yours, " came her husky demand. Trip looked nonplussed, but muttering an "oh hell" to himself, stood and tugged at the cord holding the pajama bottoms up. They dropped to his knees and he stepped out of them. T'Pol kept her eyes on his face for a moment longer. PART THREE "A *definite* improvement on your predecessors," she amended quietly. Trip actually blushed; grinning, he rubbed a forearm across his still wet mouth as T'Pol gracefully shifted herself off of the desk. "The bunk might be a tad more comfortable," he suggested softly. She nodded, and they managed to stretch out together on the bed. T'Pol lay curled on her side one hand propping up her head, the other gliding lightly over his broad chest, toying with the hollows of his throat as he lay on his back. Trip tried to keep still, but the strain showed on several places. When her touch toyed lightly with one of his nipples, he twitched. "Pleasurable?" "Yeah . . ." he choked out, his smile twisted. "Damned if I know why, but--" "--And this is an erection," she murmured softly, fingers sliding down his stomach and encircling him. He laughed low in his throat. "Kinda dry and scientific. In a medical text it's an erection. In the context of us in my bed, Darlin', it's a hard-on. You're gonna have to get used to the idioms." Her dark eyes met his, and the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth made him grin when she replied, "There are far too many to choose from, and all have their own shades of praise or insult. I would not want to use the wrong term." As she spoke, her hand stroked him again, and he gave a small breathless gasp. "The Vulcan idioms are all considered relics from our uncivilized, sexist past, but there are a few still mentioned." Trip's hand engulfed hers as he forced her to stop. "Wait a minute--Vulcans have a word for hard-on? I gotta hear this." T'Pol 's face darkened with a blush as she whispered, "Koltarkta." Trip waited, and reluctantly she added, "Literally interpreted, it means 'That which she craves.' It is simply a poetic euphemism for--" "A Vulcan boner," Trip closed his eyes and chuckled. "Figures that under those robes they're just as proud of their dicks as any other males." "Indeed," T'Pol observed dryly. Before Trip could say anything more, she rose up and shifted so that the side of her face rested on his flat abdomen. Her hands explored him more deliberately now, and under her cheek she could feel the hard muscles tighten. "Easy now . . . " he warned her. "Why?" "Because--" it dawned on him that her question was truly borne of ignorance, and a strangely tender expression crossed his face. He ran a hand over her delicate back. " . . . Your touch feels so good," he finished gently. He felt her relax a bit, and stroked her shoulders again. "You are larger than I would have expected," she observed. Trip smirked to himself. "Family genetics I guess. Tucker men have alway---ahhhhhhh!" T'Pol ran her tongue around the head of his cock and gently slid it into her mouth; Trip drew in a sharp breath. Pleased with herself, she let the shaft glide further in, tasting it. "Oh damn, this isn't a good idea . . . T'Pol . . . ." Torn between aching pleasure and consideration, Trip writhed. She ignored him, and for long minutes continued her open-mouthed caresses, feeling a strange and tender power within herself as she did so. The fact that he was helpless and straining for her was a secret delight, and she shifted closer, to better tease him. Trip groaned. Sweat rolled down his face, and he fought the urge to pull her away. Her strength would always be greater, and she was certainly determined . . . He licked his lips, a faint delicious trace of her still there. Relentlessly his body began to build towards the inevitable. " . . . .Darlin, . . . I'm . . . .I'm gonna . . ." Before he could utter another word, he did, a hot surge gushing forth. Startled, T'Pol choked, managing to down the majority of it before pulling back and coughing a bit. Pearly drops splattered on her hands and across his hips. She ran her tongue around her lips. "Are you all right?" she asked softly, turning to look at him. A low rumble moved up through his chest, and he laughed again, this time a deep, satisfied sound. He shifted his elbows behind him and sat up, hair tousled, white teeth flashing. "I never thought you'd do that," he told her sheepishly. "Never in my wildest dreams, and I've had a lot of those. Are you okay?" Gently he wrapped his arms around her; T'Pol shot a last regretful look at his waist. "You have ejaculated." "Magnificently I might add--" seeing her look he lifted her chin. "Hey, give me about ten minutes and we can do it again." She arched a doubtful eyebrow, but Trip nodded. "Trust me." He leaned forward to kiss her. She let him, and pulled away, her brows drawing together. "I should go." "You should stay," he argued firmly. "Oral sex is mighty fine, but it's not the same." "Vulcans do not have oral sex. It is illogical to waste time on physical contact that wastes reproductive capacity." she said it, but her words were flat and without spirit. Trip kissed the side of her neck. "I bet Vulcans do dine on each other. See, logic is all well and good out front and in public. But we're all driven by a biological imperative. You're a scientist, honey you can see that. To keep reproducing, the payoff has to be in the mating. Things have to feel good if you want to keep doing them." PART FOUR "Possibly," she conceded. "But the goal for those of us with capacity to reason is to rise above mere biology," she dropped her gaze from his, "-- eventually." Trip tossed his head back and chuckled again. "If anybody told me I'd be having an intellectual debate on the merits of foreplay with a nude Vulcan woman . . ." "The universe is full of random surprises, " she acknowledged. Trip pulled her down to the mattress and curled around her, spoon fashion as he pulled the maroon sheet up over them. He yawned happily. T'Pol tried again. "I should go." "In a minute. Sometimes this is the best part. Just being together-- " he murmured. He gently touched her ear, tracing it from lobe to point. T'Pol shivered, but not from cold. She took in a deep breath. "You do realize that I am considerably older than you." "Umhmm . . . a few decades don't bother me, since in perspective, you're biologically a teenager," came his easy reply. T'Pol frowned. "This is not part of--" "--the deal? I'm afraid it is. See you've got your needs, and I've got mine," Trip whispered to her, his voice growing softer and sadder. "Truth is, space is turning out to be one damn cold and lonely place. No sun, no chance to breathe fresh air--once I'm alone, it's all I can do it stay sane. I guess I don't need to remind you what I'm like when I'm not. " T'Pol rolled over to face him, and for the first time truly studied his face. The blue eyes that darkened in anger or passion, the pointed nose, the strong lines bracketing an obstinate mouth--lightly she touched the stubble on his chin. "I will stay. For a while," she warned him sleepily. He nodded, pulling her closer, feeling her rest her face in the hollow of his neck. They began to drift off. "Do . . . not expect this . . . every . . . " her words faded away into soft breathing. Trip rested his chin on the top of her head and smiled into the dark. He awoke later, to feel her hands lightly gliding over his body. She touched him in feather light strokes, exploring him. Delighted at her initiative, Trip kept his breathing in the slow and steady pattern of sleep and waited. T'Pol grew bolder, caressing his strong thighs, gently probing his belly button. He wanted to laugh, but didn't when her fingers began to cup around his rigid cock; he moaned softly instead. Still feigning sleep, he shifted his hips, rubbing himself against her hand. She pressed closer to him and he could feel her stiff nipples against his chest as she did so. Very softly, he mumbled her name. T'Pol sighed, and gently slid on top of him, fumbling until he was pressing up between her thighs. Her mouth kissed him warmly, eagerly. With exquisite slowness, he thrust with both tongue and cock at the same time, sliding into the wet heat of her. It was slow and lovely and gentle, a timeless rhythm of kisses and strokes. Trip felt her cheekbone rub against his, felt the hot sting of her tears as they splashed onto the side of his face. When she shuddered against him, he licked her wet face without speaking. T'Pol ran her hands up to pinch his nipples, helplessly he spasmed, bucking up into her, lifting them both up from the mattress for a moment. When she was dressed again, report in hand, face as distant and serene as ever she spoke. Pausing at the door, she looked back at him standing there. "We may be able to satisfy each other's needs for the moment, Commander, but it is a far cry from being in love." She stepped out, leaving him in the shadows. After a long moment, Trip bent to pick up the fallen teacup. "The hell it isn't. You still have a lot to learn," he told the dark and lonely cabin. End |
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