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“Coitus Conceptus” Rating: NC-17 This story is a sequel to Coitus Experimentus. ((((((((((((((((((((((( Part 2 ))))))))))))))))))))))) Trip shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for a response. Two female crewmen sidled past, each giving their handsome superior officer a winning grin. Trip smiled wanly in response, hoping they wouldn’t notice the address he was hovering at. Finally, he turned to leave and bumped full-on into T’Pol, who was just herself arriving at her quarters. “Commander,” T’Pol greeted him, with a nod of the head. At her choice of words, Trip looked up and down the empty corridor. “Who’re you doin’ that for?” he asked. She generally referred to him as ‘Commander’ whenever they were on duty, reserving use of his nickname for when they were speaking together privately. T’Pol realised they were alone and lifted a self-depreciative eyebrow. “Habit. I apologize…Trip.” Trip smiled uncomfortably. “No need to apologize. I just thought, given your request this mornin’, I’d stop by to chat a bit before I turned in for the night.” “Some neuropressure, perhaps,” T’Pol suggested, opening her door and leading the way inside. Trip followed. “No, actually, I’ve been sleeping real well lately.” T’Pol left Trip in the main room and disappeared into the bathroom. “Insomnia is only one of the many disorders treatable by neuropressure.” Her voice floated out to meet his ears, as he wandered aimlessly around her small home, pausing by the window to gaze at the stars. T’Pol reappeared in the bright little concave doorway reflected in the thick glass against the black vacuum of space. Trip turned. She was wearing her silk robe and holding her wadded uniform in front of her stomach with white knuckles. Trip waited by the window, uncertain of anything after their conversation in the mess hall. T’Pol gazed at him for a strange, long second, before glancing down at the laundry she clutched. She tossed it into a discreet hamper, lit a meditation lamp, dimmed the lights, and sat tensely on the edge of her bed. Trip came over and squatted down before her, looking up into her carefully-set face. “So, uh, how’re y’feelin’?” He didn’t dare touch her; he thought it would look loutish in light of her earlier request. The last thing they needed right now was another misunderstanding. And they were so good at misunderstandings. It was almost difficult for Trip: pulling himself enough out of their comfortable, cranky rut of years to re-evaluate his longtime friend and sometime lover; to see her for the totally altered person this phenomenon was making her. He couldn’t trust that her reactions would be the same. He couldn’t trust that they’d be different. The only thing he was sure of was the need for caution. T’Pol didn’t meet his eye. Her gaze was riveted on the carpet; clearly her control was becoming more and more metaphorical as she finally relaxed in her own room. Her voice trembled a little at its very edges. “I am feeling…somewhat…ill,” she told the floor. Her face looked nauseated, but she still maintained a mostly neutral, nicely Vulcan timbre as she replied to his question. At her discomfited response, Trip let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. It turned into a sigh of compassion as he pushed off the floor and plonked himself next to her on the bed. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just took hold of her arms and turned her away from him so that he could rub her shoulders and neck through the familiar, dull, silver silk of the robe that covered them. T’Pol leaned into his rough, therapeutic touch, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Except for two separate, weeklong periods of acute insomnia after Elizabeth died—the last one nine months ago—they had entirely stopped their habit of friendly neuropressure. She was more than willing to help him when he had a medical need. And he couldn’t stay away if he wanted to during those hideous wakeful phases that still attacked occasionally: when nightmares wouldn’t hold off long enough for him to submerge into sleep. But usually, she couldn’t bear to sit so closely with him, to touch his body so intimately, when she couldn’t allow herself to touch his heart. Her own was too raw. Trip massaged her tight, muscled shoulders, skillfully applying the neuropressure techniques she had taught him two years ago while they traveled the Expanse. Had it only been two years? he mused. So much had changed between them since then. And though it had only been a year since their infamous daughter had appeared and died within a matter of hours, it felt as though they had both aged decades since then. Trip had grown used to the weary ball of grief he carried in his stomach. He envied T’Pol her training in emotional control. They had clung to one another at first, both equally horror-stricken at what evil had done to a tiny, helpless baby. But then the weeks went on, and T’Pol had built her walls, and he just couldn’t come here three times a week anymore to watch the mother of his vanished child professionally try to shut him out. It was too sad for both of them. She wasn’t very good at it. Trip’s hands continued their slow, measured chafing of the pressure points at the base of her neck. T’Pol tipped her head forward now, rolling her chin over her chest as waves of tension drained away. She had forgotten how proficient Trip had become at the exacting Vulcan art of neuropressure. The last couple of times he had come to her for help, she had been the practitioner only. She didn’t trust herself to submit to his touch. She knew that if she opened that door, there would be no going back. And she was cowardishly afraid of what he would think of her, once he knew her completely. There were so many dark places hidden in her mind. She had decades more adult memories than he did. Many of them so wearying; many of them so shameful. She envied Trip his youth: his short, clean memories. T’Pol stifled a small gasp as Trip’s large hands chastely and deeply milked the tension from her muscles. In vain, she realised that she would have to submit utterly once the plak tau took hold. She would have no choice but to let herself go completely. That was the nature and purpose of the primal septennial urge. Conception and propagation, yes. But also the crucially vital emotional discharge that accompanied the physical release. Though Vulcans could mate oftener if they chose, nature ensured that the sexually reticent and emotionless race wouldn’t go too many years without at least a chance for a child. Thus, every seven years, they found themselves driven to mate or die…whether they liked it or not. And so—she would mate with Trip. Some of the things that they had tacitly arranged to do with one another in agreeing to this situation seeped past her resistance and into her imagination. All at once, she shuddered convulsively, standing in a rush and striding to the window. Trip calmly watched his neuropressure patient slide from under his fingertips and hold herself rigid at the bulkhead across the small room. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you?” He knew he hadn’t hurt her. T’Pol just shook her head and tucked her thin robe more tightly around herself. She took a calming breath and walked resolutely back to where she had been sitting. Trip moved aside a little to give her space. She sat again on the edge of the bed, looking at him. “Trip,” she said, tasting the name. “Yes?” he responded, but she sat silently for a moment more before speaking. “I apologise for my…odd reactions. Phlox says my endorphin and hormonal levels are dangerously high. He has medicated me, but I am afraid that you will likely see worse if you decide to help me.” “If I decide…?” Trip echoed, leaning back against the bulkhead. “Looks like I’m here doesn’t it?” T’Pol simply looked back at him with grateful, troubled eyes. Trip leaned forward a little bit and levelled with her. “Look, I’m just the big, dumb human here. I want to help you (God how he wanted to help her) but I don’t know anything about this whole thing. You’re going to have to fill me in a bit.” T’Pol tinged slightly green. A Vulcan blush, Trip realised. She looked down at her hands and evaded: “We don’t discuss it.” “Y’must’ve told Phlox,” Trip reminded her. “Either way, I’m probably going to work some of it out for myself during the…uh…proceedings.” T’Pol felt her ire rising to his dry wit, while at the same time, the word ‘proceedings’ illogically lit a fire in her loins that she was hard-pressed to conceal. She shifted uncomfortably. Nothing could be worse than having to approach the chief engineer in public and asking him to be her stud horse. That had turned out all right. She did trust Trip…nearly completely. She closed her eyes though, inhaling deeply, unwilling or unable to look at the man she proposed to mate with, even as she explained how and why the mating would take place. “It’s called the Pon Farr,” she muttered. Never would she have thought she would have said those words to a Denobulan and a human before she ever actually got the chance to mate. “The primal urge to mate that all Vulcans, male and female, experience approximately once every seven years.” T’Pol opened her eyes and peeked at Trip, who was simply listening, interested…not jumping all over her shocking words, as she had half-expected. She knew the embarrassment was illogical and within her own mind, but it was frustrating always being the outsider. Always having to explain in tiny, mortifying detail the slightest things that were happing to her. A Vulcan would have known her trouble immediately. A Vulcan would have known the proper protocol straight away. This thought instantly led her to visualise who this Pon’farr had originally been slated for. Koss. She squirmed in abject mental relief at the prospect of mating with Trip, instead of her horrible ex-husband. The realisation that she would rather be here with Trip than with someone else, made it easier for her to continue. “Vulcans become sexually mature in their twenties. However, the Pon Farr does not demand that we mate until at least our sixties. It is earlier for men,” she added, again reminded of Koss. Trip absorbed this information, adding it to the tapestry of understanding he was slowly weaving for the Vulcan race. Finally he looked up in some confusion. “So what happens with mated couples? Their Pon Farr wouldn’t necessarily be at the same time, would it?” T’Pol was startled by the total ease with which Trip was ingesting this awkward information. She looked at him strangely before replying. “Vulcans are touch-telepaths. Once another Vulcan has been…properly approached…for mating, the plak tau transfers to them as well. They then undergo a Pon Farr of their own, separate from their seven-year cycle.” Trip finally seemed somewhat uncomfortable at this revelation. “So, you’re sayin’ that I’m gonna….” he gestured feebly at nothing in particular as he imagined the things he might say or do under the influence of some alien, sexual brain-fever. T’Pol perversely enjoyed seeing him finally a little off-balance over this whole thing. She watched him closely as she responded. “I do not know what the effect will be on your physiology. Phlox doesn’t believe there is any serious danger to either of us.” Trip tried to ignore the caveat ‘serious’ and swallowed, thinking of another question. “So what do people on Vulcan do when they’re…y’know…and their mate is absent? Or deceased? Y’don’t just go trawling the bars….” T’Pol stiffened. “Of course not,” she remonstrated. “You would be hard-pressed to find a ‘bar’ to ‘trawl’ on Vulcan anyway. I assume that is a fishing term,” she muttered faintly, with a slight wrinkle to her nose. She continued: “My mother underwent Pon Farr twice after my father died. She simply reported to a special monastery. It is a common enough concern on my homeworld, after all.” She relented after a moment and clarified: “Vulcan scientists have known for centuries how to use drugs to placate the plak tau. Temporarily. It is not advisable to repeatedly avoid mating, however, as the strains placed on the limbic system are intense and dangerous. The Pon Farr exists for a reason. Meditation and medication are used as a corollary treatment only in cases where mating is impossible.” T’Pol paused, loathe to explain why this wasn’t an option for her. She chose the evasive approach. “However, Phlox and I do not believe that my skills are up to the challenge at this point. So, he recommended the more…traditional…route.” She shut her mouth after the last bit. They were coming dangerously close to Trellium territory, and there was no way she was letting anyone except Phlox know about that. Ever. “So y’came and found me,” Trip finished, not questioning her last comment or her meditative abilities. T’Pol raised an eyebrow in agreement. Another question had niggled in the back of Trip’s mind since that morning in the mess hall. He was running out of time in which to broach it, he was sure. And yet he still had absolutely no idea of what he wanted to hear her say. He pursed his mouth before forcing the words out: “You haven’t mentioned anything about….babies.” T’Pol swallowed, blinking at the mention of a baby of their bodies. “No. That will not be a concern. Phlox and I have already discussed it.” “Ah. Good.” Trip said. He hoped it was good. He was mostly certain that he didn’t want a baby now, and he tried not to let thoughts of Elizabeth pull him down into a slump of grief, as they often did. T’Pol raised a querulous brow at his response. “I mean, well…y’know…” Trip gestured randomly. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. But T’Pol held understanding in her large eyes. “I know,” she said simply. And he knew she did. They fell silent again. Trip realised that he was going to have to continue to prompt the whole thing along until it gained some momentum of its own. “And how long do we have till.…” He again gestured feebly, allowing his sentence to suggest its own ending, rather than ham-fistedly fumbling for the words. T’Pol turned and reached into one of the small, stacked cupboards that made up the end of her bed. She extracted a small hypospray and held it up. “Phlox injected me this morning with a limbic suppressant. It allowed me to complete my shift. This is the antidote. It will neutralize the suppressant…once I am ready. “It would…not do…for the crew to interact with me once I am under the influence of the blood fever.” She coloured in grim recollection of a particularly hazy and embarrassing stint in decon. “Y’sound like you’ve been through this before,” Trip commented, a question in his voice. T’Pol avoided half-recollected scenes of throwing herself at Phlox in a steamy rage, and answered in hushed tones. “Something like it. Once. But never the real thing.” Trip was strangely relieved at her answer, though he couldn’t quite say why. “Well, neither have I,” he replied. “So, it looks like we’re kinda on the same page here.” His attempt to ease T’Pol’s fears by showing solidarity worked unbelievably well on her in her semi-stimulated state. She stared at him across the small distance that separated them, gratitude—and something else—gleaming from her suddenly shiny eyes. She did not speak. Trip noted the ray in her eye. It spoke volumes. He hedged a little, unsure of his position. “Uh, y’know, I was just stoppin’ by to talk. I didn’t really realise that you were…ready to get started.” He looked at her again, trying to decipher her face. “Are you ready to get started?” “Would that be a problem?” T’Pol asked, her voice tight and husky. “Noo,” Trip hedged, adjusting his feet on the bed. His leg was falling asleep. “I just, y’know…like I said…I don’t know what to do next here. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.” T’Pol felt the blood in her brain beginning to quicken slightly in the presence of her chosen mate as their conversation finally veered toward logistics. She regarded him frankly, still holding the hypospray in her hand. “Trip,” she said seriously, knowing fully their unusual difficulties and the special situation they found themselves in. “You are here with me, willing to help. You can’t say or do anything wrong. Please trust me.” Trip nodded slowly at these words. She was having to place all of her trust in him, that was certain. A shiver crawled unexpectedly down his spine at the thing she had asked him here for. In a bizarre, medical, xenobiological sort of way, this was his every night-time fantasy come true. He realised with some belated shock that he really hadn’t fantasized about anyone else in years. Not even blowsy Amanda Cole, and she had been willing to give it all up at any moment. He supposed that made the difference. No point in fantasizing about what you could go pick up any day of the week. Instead his mind habitually explored T’Pol’s body and soul at night, his memory of their one passionate evening together being something good and shining: something strong to wash away other, darker, obsessions. Their ‘mating’. The earthy shiver in his nerves increased as he remembered the rather graphic noun she had chosen to describe their one-time coupling…in the middle of a peculiar sort of Orion attack. Trip had been working his hardest under the increasingly difficult yoke of having everyone around him going completely insane. “The thing I can't figure out is why I'm immune.” T’Pol had finally decided to come clean. “That…might have something to do with me.” Trip knew it somehow, though he couldn’t say why. “You?” T’Pol took on a professorial tone, distancing herself from the event she spoke of. “There's a long-held belief that when a Vulcan mates, there's a shared psychic bond.” Trip’s heart quickened at her description of what they had done two days after Christmas two years ago. He protested immediately to cover his reactions. “We didn't ‘mate’.” “Okay,” Trip relented. Fine. Her word, not his. “What do you mean by ‘psychic bond’?” “It's difficult to explain,” she had begun hesitantly. “Feelings, thoughts…even images can be shared.” Daydreams. “What?” Trip hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but it was too late. Caught out, he explained. “When I said before…that I wasn't having any daydreams about you.” He looked up and admitted the truth. “It wasn't actually true.” Trip went on, not sure he was ready to open that particular can of worms right now, what with sexy female aliens taking over everything. “So if we're bonded...what does this have to do with me not being affected by the Orions?” T’Pol had offered her scientific opinion: “I'm immune to the pheromones because of my Vulcan physiology.” “And you're making me immune?” Trip clarified. “Apparently,” T’Pol confirmed. She wasn’t complaining. The sight of the rest of the crew going mental was starting to annoy her. She was glad that her—um—this—particular human was able to restrain himself. Trip digested her analysis, glad he wasn’t simply suddenly and inexplicably frigid, as he had been suspecting. “Yeah...I don't know whether to be relieved or…really worried.” Who knows what would have happened between them after that, if that monster Paxton hadn’t brewed up an innocent baby whose chance of life was zero: sending them both spiralling down and away from one another again? Trip swallowed, firmly banishing Paxton’s hypocritical, Taggart’s-syndromed, Rigellian-gene-therapied face from his mind. Now was not the time. T’Pol leaned back against the cupboards behind her, watching the shadows chasing across Trip’s features, as his thoughts churned inscrutably behind his forehead. Though unsettling, she would have appreciated some of that bonding that they had shared so easily in the past…while she had been pining loudly for him, after he left Enterprise. Although, they had argued even there…in the whitespace of their joined minds. Illogically, she couldn’t bear to be separated from him, and yet she also couldn’t bear the horribly wonderful possibilities that joining with him would offer. Her overwrought, fevered, and currently one-tracked brain was weary with talk and explanations, but she knew there was no other way. He had to understand what was happening to her. Finally she spoke. “Trip, you don’t have to do this.” Trip looked up at her incredulously. “Y’know I’m not just gonna leave y’to…to…” He frowned to himself, realising he lacked the knowledge to finish the sentence. “What happens anyway, if the Pon Farr is left untreated?” Trip asked. She looked at him askance and he hastened to reassure her: “Just for information’s sake…I’m not thinking of taking off on you or anything.” T‘Pol waited a second before delivering her blunt reply: “Death.” She stated the simplest answer baldly, if only to watch his shocked reaction. She found a disturbing and illogically perverse pleasure in tormenting Trip in small ways. She always had. Trip goggled at her silently for a moment, before barking a mirthless laugh. “Death, she says,” he repeated to the room at large. “Oh, that’s all. Just a minor inconvenience.” T’Pol almost smiled. “Now you’re the one who’s disgruntled,” she informed him coolly, but he caught the gleam in her eye. “Well it’s a hell of a ‘choice’ you’re giving me,” he replied with some heat. “Sex or death?” “I suspect the former would efficiently serve to re-gruntle you. That is, if I correctly understand the nature of the human male.” “Re-gruntle?” Trip repeated. “That’s not a word.” “Sure it is,” T’Pol mimicked seriously. “The process of restoring someone from a disgruntled state to a gruntled one. Ask Hoshi. She says it all the time.” “How do you remember everything I say?” Trip demanded. But he was smiling. The ice was broken. Things felt sort of normal, here in these small quarters, for the first time in over a year. He relaxed back against his bulkhead again, smiling. T’Pol locked her eyes on Trip’s from her spot at the other end of the bed. Trip watched her through the dim, flickering light of the meditation lamp she had placed by the window. She was still holding the hypospray that would get everything started. Trip mused on what weird things hormones were, that they could change a person completely. “You wanna be careful with that,” Trip advised, noting how carelessly she held the medical tool in her hand. T’Pol merely gazed at him curiously, raising the device as if seeing it for the first time. She pressed her other palm against the injection modulus, inspecting the thing closely. “Yeah, like that. You wouldn’t want to, uh, y’know, set anything off before you’re ready.” Before I’m ready. T’Pol looked back at Trip. Impulsively, her right hand squeezed the trigger and her left momentarily froze as a cold shot of medication infiltrated the cartilaginous tissues and tendons of her hand. Trip’s eyes widened in shock. “Whoops,” T’Pol said quietly. She didn’t know what had made her do it. Probably her right hand knew her well enough to assume that she would probably have taken forever over it. A logical enough solution, in any case, she thought to herself, putting the hypospray down carefully in the cupboard again. She had to return it to Sickbay later. Trip was still staring at her, shaken; and somewhat wary, too. He didn’t know what to expect next. Neither did she. Except that it was suddenly very hot in the small room, and T’Pol stood resolutely and walked back to the window. Faint perspiration was forming in the centre of her back and tracing her upper lip. She breathed deeply, looking out the window at the calming field of stars stretching infinitely before her. She was in space. Where she had planned to be when this took place. Even before she had met her human family on Enterprise, T’Pol had been bound and determined to avoid sharing her first Pon Farr with Koss. Then, she’d nearly bestowed the honour upon a protesting Phlox. But, as she’d told him, it was not yet time for her natural cycle. She noticed this quietly intense heat seemed much more innocuous than the slavering beast she had become in Sickbay. Perhaps it was because her chosen mate that day had been scurrying all over the decon chamber, trying to avoid her. Not that she wasn’t grateful for Phlox’s professional restraint. However, she took relief at the knowledge that any insanity that gripped her tonight would be instantly quelled upon the willing body of the human man who waited quietly behind her. This seemed to somewhat gentle the persistent demon that had reawakened this morning within her Vulcan psyche, demanding its cyclical tithe. She would give it its due this time. The very thought of finally giving in, when her whole life had been spent holding out, was enough to melt the last remaining tension from her body. Knees suddenly weak, she shuddered again at the thought of Trip, and turned to face him, her back against the cooling glass. He watched her, his own pulse quickening, anticipation mingled with a sort of quiet fear in his eyes. He knew that whatever else happened, he was going to remember this night for the rest of his life. Probably for the rest of his future incarnations. T’Pol’s breath had quickened, and he noticed a faint cloud of fog forming a narrow aura around the parts of her pressed to the cool glass of the window. A dull sheen of perspiration had oiled her brow in the short time she had been turned away from him, and her high cheeks were greening enough that he could easily detect the flush even in the dim, coppery light. Her nipples stood firmly visible through the silky covering of her robe, contracted and tingling with the sensation of the chafing fabric as she breathed. T’Pol wished to Surak that Trip would make some type of decisive move, but she knew it would have to be her. He wouldn’t do anything to pressure her, even now, she thought with sudden piquant annoyance. She strode forward, noticing the dampness between her thighs for the first time. Trip sat up straighter as she approached him. She stood quietly before him, her lips slightly parted, her face intense with he-knew-not-what impulses. Finally, she spoke, her voice as tight as a harp string. “Trip…I think…” Trip nodded, finishing her strangled sentence in his own mind. And he reached up and took her hands and pulled her back to sit next to him on her bed. But this time, instead of turning her around to chastely massage her shoulders, he put one hand behind her head and left the other hand clutching her moist fingers. And slowly, he pulled her forward and kissed her. T’Pol melted into his mouth, the sharp stubble of his late-in-the-day shadow rasping against her own delicate face, as she warmed instantly to his touch, kissing back fervently. The heat that constantly simmered between their once-mated bodies immediately erupted into an incredibly gentle, incredibly passionate fervour that poured over and around them both as they touched one another intimately with their hands and mouths. Trip’s fingers moved of their own accord as he suckled at T’Pol’s warm mouth, pushing the thin, dampish fabric of her dressing gown back off her shoulders and letting it slide down her arms, baring her breasts. He gently took one in his large, rough palm, lightly pinching her hard nipple and squeezing the firm flesh as he fervently kissed and kissed her. His other hand stroked strongly the now-bare skin of her back, pulling her to him, even as he had as much as he could hold in his hands and in his mouth. After a moment, T’Pol moaned silently, burying her face in his neck and fumbling with her hands to untie the knot in her robe. Trip’s mouth nibbled its scratchy way unbearably over the back of her bent neck and she moaned aloud, a fresh surge of dampness tingling between her legs. Finally she whipped the belt free and clawed her robe away from her body. She stood and hauled Trip’s T-shirt over his head. He looked up at her from his spot on the bed, his own face flushed pink now, his pupils dilated as he hungrily gave in to the cravings he had denied himself all but once before. They stared into one another’s eyes, T’Pol standing, Trip sitting, as he tugged his sweatpants off and kicked them away. T’Pol looked down at her best friend, finally naked again upon her bed after so long. She put one knee on the mattress next to him and pushed him back as she brought her other bare thigh up to his other side. Soon she was straddling his naked body, pressing her damp cleft against his warm skin, just an inch below the base of his rearing penis. She grasped this beating, warm rod in her hungry hands, making Trip throw an arm up over his eyes, gritting his teeth and groaning with sudden, ferocious need. Remembering the incredible foreplay of their previous lovemaking, T’Pol was shocked at her body’s instant, ancient demand for penetration. She grasped Trip’s shaft at its base and squeezed as she guided its head into her opening. Poised above Trip, frozen with desire, panting, she put her face down and breathed into his ear. “Trip…what do you want me to do?” The incredible recollected eroticism of T’Pol’s only coherent word during their last lovemaking washed over him and he repeated it for her, as she wanted him to. “Fuck me.” T’Pol shuddered in shock at the illogical effect the human word had on her body, and she allowed herself to slide slowly, agonizingly, down the length of Trip’s long, thick penis, both of them crying out, until she sat, impaled fully upon him. Trip gazed up at the magnificent woman astride him, his cock buried deeply within her hard body: for an instant, feeling only astonishment that she had chosen him to be her mate. And then they were away and gone upon a thrusting, coital sea of sensation. Trip gripped his lover’s hips crushingly as he guided her rhythmic movements, before rolling her heavily over onto her back. He lay on top of her, holding her in his arms, thrusting deeply and satisfyingly into her soft opening, as she panted and tossed her head from side to side with a thirsty, sucking lust that Trip had never before experienced in a woman. She was more than matching him in drive and desire, and his natural male hormones responded to this with an aching hunger that further hardened his cock and sent thrills of electricity through his limbs, as he drove himself again and again into T’Pol’s incredible, vulnerable body. Her eyes snapped wide as a burning sensation began to build deeply and ragingly within her loins and her brain. Her right hand formed involuntarily into a claw, that set itself at Trip’s face with gentle, relentless, iron precision. Their combined thrusts fused into a single, straining tremble as the power of her Vulcan mind flowed through her fingertips and into Trip’s body. And suddenly the raging inferno within her own breast and brain and between her legs became his as well. Trip’s face contorted as if with foreordained ecstatic pain, as he took on his mate’s plak tau. Nothing, not even a hull breach, would stop him now; and he drove himself with increasing frenzy into T’Pol’s wide-legged drinking embrace, finally providing both of them with what they each secretly desired night after night…communing via their subliminal bond, though they weren’t aware of it. Breath was in short supply, but this went unnoticed through their throaty cries; and they joined themselves together, clinging for all they were worth, twined nakedly upon T’Pol’s small cot. And when it came time for Trip’s body to propel his essence into her waiting womb, he shouted her name out loudly, unaware, plunging his face into the sheets to drown himself ecstatically, as he emptied his seed into her, pumping furiously. T’Pol’s hand still clung magnetically to Trip’s face, even as he ground his visage into the mattress below her, the bond they had initiated years ago fanning itself to a molten twin-soul status: she plunging herself into his mind as relentlessly as he was plunging himself into her body. His climax burned through her fingertips and boiled down into her incredibly sensitive sex, causing her voice to join with his—tormented and insensate. At length, drained, half sobbing, they slowed their movements and pulled back to look at one another. Trip continued to thrust slowly, unhurriedly into her passage, his member softening now and pressing thickly up against the clitoral nodes that surrounded her opening. Another ragged groan of pleasure tore from her throat, as a sizzling aftershock spasm clenched excruciatingly within her vagina, finally pulling a tear to her dry eyes. Trip rested finally, heavy on top of her, and her body fell limp beneath him as they both gasped for air enough to clear their swimming vision. After minutes of simple, perfect existence, Trip pushed up on one sweaty arm. He looked deeply and seriously into T’Pol’s burning eyes, still breathing heavily. “Are you okay?” he asked. He wasn’t kidding. Neither of them had had any control at all over the last violent minutes of their coupling. T’Pol nodded, almost frightened at what had just transpired. This wasn’t experimental, as the first time had been. This she had entered into with her eyes open, knowing from that one previous, exquisite experience what she wanted from her body and from Trip’s. And their bodies had complied…keenly. She traced the left side of his face where her fingernails had left dented half-moons in the flesh of his cheekbone, not quite breaking the skin. “Are you okay?” she asked. Trip swallowed and nodded. He closed his eyes as he gently eased his flaccid length from her warm, damp, clinging passage. The renewed friction in her inflamed private flesh tugged another involuntary moan from her generous lips. Trip rolled to his side next to her and she immediately snuggled up to him, her nether parts aching with emptiness, kissing his lips, unable to comprehend that it was over. Trip responded with heat, kissing her mouth hungrily, amazed at the lust and other heady things still boiling in his chest, though his loins were completely satisfied. For now. He kissed along her jaw and under the lobe of her ear, before suckling his way to the pointed tip and nibbling gently upon it. T’Pol’s neck twisted convulsively as shivers of incredible ecstasy spiked into the sensitive skin of her throat and ear. She pulled Trip’s mouth hungrily back to her own and they locked together again. His hard, muscled arms tightened around her body as his tongue thirstily explored her mouth. He couldn’t get enough of the plush lips that he simply looked at every day, without touching them against his own. For some reason, simply kissing this particular woman was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him. She kissed like most women fornicated. A heavy, lashing sort of kissing that left him brainless and breathless and unable to remember his name. I am kissing T’Pol ran repeatedly through his stunned mind, the incongruity of the idea thrilling new life into his loins and causing his spent member to stir with renewed vigour. T’Pol pushed Trip onto his back, covering his chest partly with her own as she fervently kissed his unbelievably responsive lips, deviating occasionally to suckle the base of his neck, or a hard, flat nipple upon the solid mound of his pectoral flesh. Her fingers strayed down under the covers and between Trip’s legs again. She gasped in shocked pleasure when her fist closed on the newly-rock hard rod of flesh that again rested against his lower abdomen. T’Pol tore the covers off and kneeled up next to him, milking his cock with her strong fingers and allowing his face and hands to caress her naked body. Trip wondered again at her slightly alien formation, gently tracing a curious finger along the sparsely defined lips of her labia. Her hips bucked convulsively at his maddeningly soft, teasing touch before he, at length, slipped a long finger up into her wet, slippery breach and stroked her skin from within. T’Pol moaned with pleasure, dropping Trip’s cock and bending to bury her face across his hard, hot stomach, as she ground herself against his open palm, his fingers pressing persistently, deliciously, up into her moist tunnel. As she crushed herself into his penetrating hand, another orgasm began to build strongly within her body. T’Pol grabbed his shaft, pulled the foreskin back to expose his tender pink skin, and flinging a taut leg over him, she ran herself through again with his stiff length. She barely had time to straddle him, her clitores crying silently against his rubbing flesh before she exploded, grabbing his hands and using them to help her drive herself against his bulk. Fire ripped through her sex and she rode him, insensate, barely noticing when her thrusts pulled him over his own edge and he yet again filled her, his voice gone, his silent mouth screaming his primal release. Their minds burned whitely and neither knew anything for an eternity of bliss. Finally, T’Pol flopped forward and rested on Trip’s heaving chest, occasionally pressing her still-cleft opening down into him to feel the afterquiver of chafed nerve endings. Trip tucked her head under his chin, staring breathlessly and deliriously at the cabin ceiling, unable or unwilling to think of anything but the fact of the love of his life draped carelessly across his body, panting from the just released sexual tension of years. This time it was T’Pol who gently broke their connection, kneeling up and slowly, shudderingly, withdrawing Trip from inside her. He pulled the blanket back up and tucked it around them as they lay on their sides, face to face, touching fingers with fingers and lips. After a few silent, stunned moments of voiceless communion, Trip noticed his uncomfortably sticky condition. He imagined T’Pol had it somewhat worse. “Let’s have a shower,” Trip whispered. He clambered off the bed and looked down at T’Pol’s languid, spent body. An unexpected thrill ran through his own body again at the sight of her. Smiling to himself at his own insatiability, Trip scooped T’Pol up in one strong motion and carried her to the bathroom, turning as he went through the door to avoid banging her feet. T’Pol clung strongly to Trip’s neck and pressed her hot face to his damp chest as he lifted her in his sturdy arms. Reaching the shower stall, Trip deposited her lightly on her feet and activated the water spray. T’Pol turned her flaming face into the warm water, her cheeks registering the liquid as cold in comparison to their own fiery temperature. As she closed her eyes and let the water pour down over the top of her head, she felt Trip’s warm, wet hands smoothing the skin of the back of her neck and shoulders. Suddenly reminded of her Trellium-spiked, recurring sexual-dream/nightmare, T’Pol felt a transient sense of faint horror at the exact replication of the situation in which she had flung herself murderously at the mental version of Trip and tried to throttle him. But the real Trip’s hands were warm and strong and eager, and he turned her around to face him and their mouths came together again, each drinking impatiently from a fountain they had long sat next to, dying of thirst. Their twice-satisfied ardour whipped quickly into existence again, as their kisses increased in strength and their hands started to roam hungrily again the paths of one another’s arousal. Within moments, they found themselves kneeling on the hard floor, Trip entering her now-slick tunnel from behind, as she thrust her ass into the air and pressed her cheek against the steamy, sterile tile of her shower stall floor. After a few quick thrusts, Trip’s overwrought body climaxed tremblingly. And though T’Pol had not had time for her own places to come to a boil, the shared connection they had formed was strong enough that his pleasure flowed instantly into every corner of her body, gratifying her as deeply as if she herself had climaxed. She reared up to press her back into his chest and stomach and he wrapped muscled arms around her to hold her to him as he fondled a heavy breast, thrusting his last into her, kissing the back of her neck where it met her shoulder. Trip sat back kneeling, spent, T’Pol still on his lap. She disengaged slowly and turned to sit on the floor facing him, her long legs spread wide and resting upon his thighs. They put their foreheads together and rested for a moment. Trip finally spoke, his voice husky from the demands of the last while. “How much longer,” he asked, swallowing, “does this go on?” T’Pol pulled back and squinted at him in the thick mist of the steamy stall. “Have you had enough?” Trip grinned wearily, closing his eyes and leaning his face into her neck for a moment. “I don’t know. I can’t tell one thing from another right now.” T’Pol put her arms around his body, leaning her own head on his shoulder. She had to tell him. “One mating would have been enough to quench the blood fever.” Trip frowned to himself in perplexity over her shoulder. One? Then what were the other two, he wondered. Insurance? He pulled back and looked into T’Pol’s eyes…and felt his spirit warm at the desire and powerful emotion he saw swimming there. Always horribly uncertain in matters of the heart, T’Pol was ever unable to voice her wants and needs. But tonight, her body had taken over and was spilling her secrets in an embarrassment of riches at his feet. Her Vulcan pride would have carried her through several stoical lifetimes’-worth of self-denial, but, in the end, her basic body chemistry had betrayed her. She did desire him. Trip knew that words would shatter the fragile, spun glass universe they were existing within at this instant in time. He simply placed a compassionate hand on the side of her face, watching her with loudly unspoken love in his eyes and trying to pour into her suddenly bright, nearby, accessible mind all the cherished thoughts and memories he had for her in his quiet, loyal heart. They rose together like that until they stood, gazing into one another’s souls through the honest windows of their eyes. T’Pol’s lower lip trembled nearly imperceptibly as her natural reticence began to reassert itself and fought with her heart for dominance. Trip dispensed a little soap and undemandingly made a careful devotion of soaping her entire body before tenderly rinsing her under the water spray. T’Pol writhed infinitesimally under his slow, careful touch, sound escaping her lips only involuntarily as he soothingly wiped the nape of her neck or gently stroked a single finger down her nearly smooth sex under the pouring rinse of warm water. Her heart won. |
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