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"Passionfruit"
Rating: NC-17 Part Three "Hoshi---" "Shhh. I know what I'm doing." "Oh yeah . . . but, I mean, why me? Not that I'm not grateful . . . . ohhhh . . ." "Mmmmmm . . . because you have these broad strong shoulders, Travis . . . and this lean kissable stomach . . . and this . . . ." "OhmyGod,ohmyGod . . . oh Hoshi baby, you *are* the linguist . . ." *** *** *** "Dessert?" Archer looked up from his nearly empty glass of wine and ruefully smiled. "If I say no, you're going to fly into a rage and throw pots and pans around, grumbling about how your culinary talent is being wasted on a ship full of gastronomicallly impaired idiots who can't tell caviar from catfood." The woman in the doorway took off her tall hat and shook her head to hide her grin. "Ah, you know me so well, Mia patron." "Rather than risk your wrath, Chef, I'll have dessert. Join me." Within a few minutes a fragrant chocolate fondue appeared on the table, accompanied by cubed fruit and skewers. Chef expertly speared three chunks and swirled them in the glossy brown sauce while Archer watched. "Chef, have you noticed anything odd about the ship tonight?" "You mean other than the fact that as we speak, almost every woman on the Enterprise is getting laid?" She smiled wickedly. His face red, Archer cleared his throat. "Uh, really?" "Really. We've had a run on champagne, oysters and chocolate. The Quartermaster tells me there are no roses or clean sheets available either." Archer's blush deepened. Chef crossed the skewers artistically on a gleaming dish and slid them in front of the captain. "Every woman? What about you?" "The bella notte is still young, Mia Captain," she murmured with amusement, sitting next to him. He fumbled with the skewers, leaving a cocoa colored streak across the tablecloth. Chef chuckled and Archer sighed in noisy exasperation. "I give up--what the *hell* is going on?" Chef waved a skewer like a baton, her smile both knowing and naughty. "Ardore, Captain, Passione. Whatever the catalyst, I can tell you that every woman feels like Eve tonight, dangling the forbidden fruit in front of---" "--That's it--" Archer snatched up the skewer and yanked a chunk of chocolate covered fruit off of it. He leaned forward and waved it under Chef's nose excitedly. "It's the fruit, it has to be! Nobody was affected until after we started eating this." "It can't be the fruit," Chef shrugged her elegant shoulders. "This stuff's been scanned, irradiated, decontaminated, genotyped and matched against every toxin known in our databases. For all intents and purposes it's a space kiwi." Archer leaned closer. "Are you sure?" he demanded. Chef bent her head forward and slowly nibbled the fruit from his hand, licking the chocolate off his fingers with long wet swipes of her warm tongue. Stunned, Archer closed his eyes and gave a little gasp. "I have to get to Sickbay--" he announced quickly, practically leaping from his chair. Chef watched him go and wet her lips. "Chocolate covered Captain . . . " She whispered to herself. "That will make one hell of a nightcap." "Captain, I was about to page you--" Phlox was fastening up the collar of his tunic as he spoke. Archer shot a look through the open doorway leading to the diagnostic room where a decidedly feminine form slept under rumpled sheets. "Patient or seductress?" "Both," Phlox ruefully admitted. "Ironic, really, since for weeks the two of us have been trying to keep our relationship fairly quiet." "In light of our current epidemic of fraternization I don't think anyone's going to notice," Archer sighed. Phlox tilted his head in agreement, then pointed to the screen at a research station. It showed a display of DNA. "After our dinner discussion I decided to reexamine the fruit we brought on board--" "--I know, I know--it's infected the women of the Enterprise." "Incorrect. The fruit is harmless. The seeds, however, have a genetic implant that is absorbed by the X chromosome and manipulates the hormones." "Inciting lust?" Archer tried not to smile, but Phlox nodded, his expression serious. "And quite a bit of it. It has all the earmarks of bio-botanical engineering, and I assume it's purpose is to increase fertility not only for the fruit, but for any animals ingesting it." "So the farmer gets a bumper crop of fruit *and* livestock." "Precisely. But this crop must be an early prototype because there is a serious flaw in the implant, Captain. Any intimate exposure to Y chromosomes will unravel sections of the DNA." "That doesn't sound good--" Archer warned. "It isn't. Every female on the ship who's had both fruit and intercourse is going to . . ." Phlox hesitated. Archer squeezed his eyes shut and finished the sentence. ". . .die." "Unfortunately. Cellular degeneration." "Can you do anything?" "Yes. It seems that the reversing the process is fairly simple. By obtaining and resequencing a little of each affected couple's original DNA-- " he broke off, seeing Archer's impatient expression. "--the details are unimportant, suffice to say I can repair the damage. But I urge you to return to Andromeda Short line and find the vendor. We need to know where the fruit came from and stop any more of it from being sold." "How long do we have?" Archer glanced up at the screen. Phlox shrugged. "I have already started the DNA cultures for the entire crew. As long as every affected person comes forth and get treated within the next few days, there should be no problem." "What about you?--" Archer glanced again at the doorway. The doctor smiled. "Ah, well--not every woman ate the fruit." *** *** *** Trip let his hands glide between the tight catsuit and the smooth hips, forcing the material down T'Pol's long muscled thighs. She gave a small hiss, although he couldn't tell if it was impatience or lust, and he was too aware of his own driving need to worry about it. The uniform slid to her knees. He stopped for a moment, startled by a discovery. "Where's your underwear?" he asked. T'Pol shot him a look so Vulcan he nearly laughed, but she followed it with a wet lick to his ear that made his knees wobble. "Okay, stupid question . . ." he panted, pinning her back against the wall again with his bare chest. Using a soft and experienced touch, Trip slid his hand down the flat plane of her stomach to arrive at the silky tuft between her thighs. His fingers lightly toyed with it, cupping it. Sweat trickled down T'Pol's cheekbone; she raised one leg and curled it around his thigh tightly. "Easy, girl . . ." Probing gently, Trip flashed a triumphant smile as his thumb found what he was searching for. A reluctant moan rose out of T'Pol's throat; she clutched his broad shoulders tightly. "What are you doing?" She demanded furiously. Ignoring her question, he continued to let the ball of his thumb glide in satin-soft strokes over the swollen bud buried between her thighs. She trembled as his fingertips slid up into her. "I-I-I . . ." T'Pol's lips parted and her eyes glazed over. Trip pressed a kiss just under her pointed ear. "Maybe we better lie down now . . ." came his hoarse whisper, " . . .'cause I don't think I can wait a whole lot longer." T'Pol turned to look at him; he realized that her dark eyes were glittering with unshed tears. After more fumbles with clothing and space, they ended up on the cramped metal decking of the turbolift floor. Trip lowered himself onto her, bracing a muscled forearm over her head. Instinctively she reached down between their bodies and wrapped gentle fingers around his swollen shaft. Trip grunted with pleasure. "Do it now, " she whispered brokenly. He nodded, letting her guide him as he kissed her forehead. He pushed forward. The slick heat of her nearly overwhelmed him; T'Pol burrowed her face into his shoulder letting out a tiny whimper. Trip hesitated, but she slid her hands over the curve of his rear and tightened her arms, wordlessly urging him on. He thrust as slowly as he could, lost in the pleasure as sweat rolled down his face. T'Pol wrapped her long legs around his lean hips, following his rhythm as he began to increase his stroke. "Oh darlin, oh darlin . . . ." Under him, T'Pol writhed, her hands raking across his back as she licked his throat. Within a few minutes she clutched him and shuddered, muffling his name into the wet flesh of his shoulder. It was enough to push him over the edge. Trip climaxed, the hot relentless surge roaring through him. His shudders slowly died away and he dropped his mouth to T'Pol's, covering her face in a frenzy of kisses. They said nothing for a long moment. Then she stiffened. "You are bleeding . . ." "Whoa--" Trip glanced at his shoulder, where a perfect ring of teethmarks welled with scarlet drops. He gave a small shy smile. "Only fair I guess. You're probably bleeding too." With a sigh of regret, he pulled away from her, got to his knees and fished for his black T-shirt, folding it into a soft pad. Trip pressed it between her thighs. She looked down the length of her body with a blank, almost dazed expression while he softly ran a finger along the edge of her ear. "Well, your skin's cooling down, and you don't look like your gonna kill me anymore, so I guess that's good . . ." he awkwardly observed. She shifted her gaze to him, and her face was unexpectedly serene. He took a deep breath. "T'Pol--" "We must repair the lift," she cut into his words gently, rubbing a hand over the marks on his shoulder. |
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