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"Cry Havoc"
By MissAnnThropic
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of its mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of my favorite shows. :(
Description: The evolution of Trip and T’Pol’s relationship following the events in ‘Harbinger’.
Chapter 15
Trip reached T'Pol's quarters without so much as a thought to calling down to engineering to arrange for his absence. He pressed the door chime to the sub-commander's quarters. No answer. Trip moved to press the summons button again then stopped, looked down either end of the corridor, then proceeded to input his security override code. With an obedient hiss the door opened and he stepped inside. The main room was empty, her bed and desk vacant, but he could hear the shower running in the connected bathroom.
Trip walked into the bathroom and didn't immediately see her.
"T'Pol?"
There was still no answer and Trip worried she might be unconscious. Hell, for all he knew about this pon farr it could be a symptom. With her hearing it was unlikely she'd simply not heard the door summons nor his entrance.
Trip wove his way around the shower walls until he came into the shower proper where he at last found T'Pol. To his relief she was not laid out on the floor, but the sight of her still failed to inspire much reassurance in the chief engineer.
T'Pol was stripped naked and dripping wet. She stood braced against the shower wall, her hands gripping the top edge of the plastic partition with a crushing grip that was making her arm muscles shake. Her head was lowered, downcast between her bracing arms, her shoulders rising and falling quickly as she breathed raggedly. Her eyes were tightly shut and as Trip stood there watching the plastic shower division in T'Pol's hands gave a resounding crack and a jagged, broken line raced its way nearly half the entire length of the unfortunate material.
Trip felt almost physical pain to see her like she was, an empathic ache flaring in his chest. He wanted to go to her, hold her to him, for christ's sake help her.
T'Pol emitted a strangled sound when she heard the plastic give, her eyes closed even tighter and she rocked faintly on her feet, hands still anchored on the abused shower wall.
Trip had to fight every impulse not to rush over to her side.
"T'Pol."
T'Pol's breath hitched and held, her eyes snapped open, and she pulled her head up enough to look at him. He'd been expecting an expression of pain on her face, but that was not what he saw. The look in her eyes was undeniably one of lust, wild desire directed at him.
T'Pol abandoned the wall, walked quickly over to Trip, and without a word plastered herself hungrily to him. Wet, bare skin came flush against uniform material. T'Pol reached for him, kissing him fiercely as she bent one leg to wrap around his, grinding her pelvis into his.
Trip, on reflex, wrapped his arms around her. His uniform soaked through in spots where she was painted against him. The water that had escaped her blistering body heat was cold, sharp contrast and evidence of T'Pol's last-ditch effort to control herself with the age-old human cure of a cold shower.
T'Pol's hands curled into the front of his uniform and jerked him closer, tighter against her while her mouth covered his insatiably.
Trip returned the kiss, his arms around her tightening as his tongue dueled vigorously with hers... as usual T'Pol had only to display interest and he was game.
T'Pol was shaking in his arms, literally trembling, but from what he wasn't sure. Hormones, tenuous control, arousal, the cold water?
She rocked against him and Trip slid one hand down her back to pull her closer by the buttocks. He was finding himself losing control, logic, right along with her, fleeing him with every passion-filled microsecond.
T'Pol pulled ferociously at his uniform, prying at the front until the strained zipper had no choice but to give ground. Unzipping to his waist T'Pol's hands were instantly inside his uniform, curling around his back and clinging onto him. Trip felt her nails dig into his flesh but refused to let himself flinch. He was quickly coming to the point where he didn't care if she raked permanent scars into his back. He was concentrated only on her, her lithe body pressed against him, her passionate kiss, her effusing desire infecting him.
Trip was startled when T'Pol suddenly pulled back and with a shove sent him slamming into the wall. For a second the wind was knocked out of him and he stared at her, blinking.
T'Pol was on him again, writhing against him restlessly, hungrily, and Trip was instantly reaching once more for slick, bare skin.
T'Pol weaved one hand in his hair, trailed her fingers along his neck, then curled her hand around the neckline of his black undershirt. With a growl she yanked and the shirt held no defense against Vulcan strength. With a resounding 'sshrriiik' the shirt tore. She grabbed another handful and pulled again, another tear; T'Pol did not release the shirt from her wrath until it lay in shreds on her shower floor.
Trip, mindless as to the fate of his clothes, grabbed her up, drunk with the physical sensation when her bare skin came against his exposed chest between the opened front of his uniform.
T'Pol's hands went to his chest, again the bite of nails, the sharp pain as she drew her hands down him, leaving in her wake red welts on his chest and stomach.
Trip made a small noise at the pain but T'Pol flung herself at him again, practically hung from him and rubbed her body against his.
Trip kissed her passionately. T'Pol had to fight to free herself from his crushing hold, when she did angrily pulling his interfering uniform off his shoulders and free of his arms.
Her hands on his bare shoulders, she knocked him forcefully against the wall at his back, stunning him with a sharp pain in his left shoulder, then she was on him again, unrelenting. Her mouth suckled at his neck, her body constantly in motion against his, still strung taut and trembling. The smell of pecans and desert sand was almost suffocating, a fog that narcotized Trip, seemed to chase away all sense and reason.
T'Pol bit his shoulder, eliciting a flinch, drawing blood.
Trip couldn't take this much longer. He had to take her, have her, and he wasn't going to waste it in his clothes.
Trip grabbed her arms roughly in his hands and in a smooth, swift motion spun them both, slamming her into the shower wall and pinning her there with his body.
T'Pol bucked in his arms, against his chest, an orgasm racking her body then and there. It did nothing to diminish her hunger for him, her hands flying to his waist and gripping handfuls of bunched uniform to savagely pull him closer, and it did everything to send Trip spinning even closer to his own explosive release.
Trip summoned his strength, pried T'Pol from him, and pushed her to the wall again. T'Pol met his eyes in a haze of enthused arousal.
Trip quickly unlaced his boots and peeled off the rest of his cumbersome clothing.
He was just straightening to rise when T'Pol launched herself at him. He flew then sprawled across the shower floor, yelp drowned by T'Pol's mouth as she pounced atop him, straddling him, kissing wildly. Her body rocked suggestively against his to a primal beat, her hands roaming over his skin, alternately rubbing and clawing as she probed his mouth with her tongue.
Trip traced her moving figure with his hands and groaned. He was going to lose it right here if things were allowed to continue in this way, and he'd rather dictate his own terms.
Trip shoved her away, practically kicked, and the Vulcan woman was flung a short distance from him, crouched in naked readiness near him, but Trip gave her no time to recover. He was on her in a heartbeat, his weight settled on top of her to hold her down, his arms pinning her shoulders to the floor as he nuzzled her neck, a nuzzle that turned into a bite.
T'Pol shuddered violently again, climaxed again, and Trip tried to forestall his own answering fall by jumping to his feet. He stepped backward two steps, toward the exit of the shower and nearer the bedroom, intent upon taking this somewhere besides the bathroom.
T'Pol rose to her feet, her eyes locked on him with a feral glint, and Trip was tensed for the collision when she charged.
T'Pol and Trip flipped, a tangle of bare arms and legs, over the last waist-high partition of the shower to land with a heavy thud on the opposite side.
Trip grunted as the impact raced up his side, seemed to congregate in his left shoulder. He realized he'd grabbed T'Pol during their pell-mell fall and she was clutched tightly against him, her back to his chest, her arms pinned across her front by his arms.
T'Pol tugged at his hold, which he tightened. She snarled, then hooked her legs around his and proceeded to rub herself against his erection.
Trip clung to her, bit her shoulder, certain he was lost then. It was surely by some miracle he didn't come on her bathroom floor, but in the next second it wasn't an issue.
Despite Trip's death-grip on her, T'Pol easily flung herself from his hold and spun to face him.
Trip sprung up on one knee and eyed her closely, darkly, waiting for her next move.
When she rose to advance on him again he was ready and he came in full-force. Inertia and mass worked in his favor, and when they met in a headlong rush T'Pol was lifted off her feet, swept up in Trip's arms as he grabbed her up and held tight. Her legs went around his waist and her hands anchored themselves on his should-blades, sticking to him willingly. Trip carried her into the main living space (knocking over items in his blind trek) as she heedlessly tempted his lips with her breasts and teased his ear with her tongue. Trip was aiming for the bed but before he could reach it T'Pol threw her weight and it set him off-balance. He dropped T'Pol back to her feet on the floor before they both fell down in another tangle even as he backed into T'Pol's desk. Her desk chair and a PADD clattered to the ground under the assault.
T'Pol advanced on him and Trip, cornered, was forced to sit roughly atop the work station. T'Pol was kissing him, leaning into him, allowing him no room for escape. She perched one knee on the table beside him and shifted once, twice. She growled in frustration and Trip realized what she was attempting to do, trying unsuccessfully to climb into his lap.
Trip grabbed her, one arm around her back, the other on her ass, and in one move hauled her up. T'Pol instantly straddled him. She resumed her attack on his lips while Trip's hands were cruelly occupied with holding her in place to keep her from sliding down the steep, sloping angle of his thighs. T'Pol seemed to know she had him trapped and seemed to revel in it, practically purred into his mouth. Trip, incapacitated by a whirlwind of Vulcan female, retaliated by the only means available to him; he nibbled at her bottom lip.
T'Pol rocked in his ungainly hold, no sign of anger at his rough treatment, if anything the opposite. He could feel the alien heat of her skin and it seared into his mind every place she touched. It was a maddening brand. He felt just as wild, as equally unchecked. He wondered if pon farr was contagious.
T'Pol pulled him closer by the shoulders, proffered herself with serpentine movements of her body, then wrenched herself from his hold entirely. When it became her to do so, effortlessly forcing her way out of his grip. She dropped to the floor and with her hands locked around the back of his neck pulled him roughly to his feet after her. The moment he was standing before her she molded herself to his frame, kissing him deeply, her hands leaving his neck, tracing down his sides, and curling into fists against his hips.
'Damn, woman, you're trying to undo me,' Trip thought breathlessly just as he resolved that wouldn't happen.
Trip backed T'Pol up forcefully, walking her across the small living quarters, T'Pol less than interested in where he was sending her consumed as she was by his physical presence. With considerable effort Trip jerked away from her kiss, bent down to hook his hands behind her thighs, and unceremoniously flipped her on to her back atop the bed.
T'Pol looked up at him, dark eyes burning, and moved to rise to her knees in order to paw greedily at him.
Trip didn't intend on letting her regain the upper hand so quickly.
Trip tackled her with his body, counting on his weight to make up for the brute strength he lacked to subdue her. T'Pol was dropped once more on to her back, Trip a living blanket atop her, and she rocked her hips and clawed his already marked back.
Trip groaned again, so close to slipping, and vowed that he'd made it this far and he'd be damned if he wasn't inside her when he went over the edge.
Trip tugged at one of T'Pol's thighs with one hand and she did not have to be urged twice. Fully aware of his intent, T'Pol parted her legs in hungry welcome for him, moved eagerly against him, her body hot to the touch.
Trip figured, on top of his list of ailments from this, he might have to add heat stroke.
Trip wasted no time sliding into T'Pol. He felt something akin to vertigo as the world spun, his sense of reality skewed and distant.
T'Pol arched into him, her hands clutched to his arms with damaging force, and again she came, unchecked shakes of ecstasy.
Trip had never wanted nor loved a woman more than he wanted and loved T'Pol at that very instant.
T'Pol rocked her body, urged his participation, and Trip was already moving with her. He'd met his goal, maintained his scrap of dignity, but now that he was in her, surrounded gloriously by her, he had no delusions that he would last long.
Two strokes, three, and he was done in. Trip let go and gave in and T'Pol shuddered and climaxed with him, an inhuman scream tearing from her throat. He thought he might have cried out too, he couldn't tell.
Trip fought for his sense of self, his sense of the universe, each suddenly slippery, sliding perilously close to out of his grasp.
Trip tried to catch his breath, still held in T'Pol's arms, in her body. The Vulcan groped at his back, his neck, already desperately hungry for more. Trip almost whimpered and kneaded her flesh with his own hands in hopeful appeasement. The mind was more than willing but the body, the human body, could not keep up with pon farr.
T'Pol bit into his shoulder again, jolting him back into reality.
Trip pulled free, enough to be out of range of her teeth and to look into her face. There was still a wild, frenzied lust and desire in her expression but in her eyes, he could swear, he could see the T'Pol he knew, the thinking, reasoning person behind this shroud of the pon farr.
Trip wanted to touch that spark of uncrazed T'Pol and without thinking brought up his hand and softly caressed her cheek with his fingertips.
Instantly T'Pol's hand shot out, came in contact with his face, her thumb on his chin, fingers on his cheek and temple. Something intense, fathomless, flared in her eyes.
And Trip gasped.
He was mad, hurtling in space, battered by chaos and untamed instinct. He couldn't feel his body, he didn't know where he was. He was lost. No, lost! He couldn't feel the breath in his lungs, his heart beating in his chest, the air against his skin. He was dead, or dying, or blown apart. He felt like an antimatter explosion. There was no sense, no self, nothing. It was free fall in blackness and he raged in impotent fear.
Trip's essence, whatever had survived to lose his body, flailed for purchase in thick, drowning nothingness. He felt everything at once. Every emotion he could identify and some he couldn't flew at him and it was too much. He screamed but there wasn't sound.
Trip was blind with panic, desperation, when suddenly calm swept toward him. It caught him in its grasp and held, and that stilled the spinning and slowed the cacophony of experience.
He fought to focus, to make sense, and he found himself remembering in visceral clarity moments past. His first day of school, Thanksgiving dinner with his family, climbing the peach tree in the front yard while Lizzie clapped, making spires of red-gold prisms on Sunday mornings with Elizabeth, his dog's lifeless body, high school graduation, losing his virginity, first day at Starfleet Academy, meeting Jonathan Archer, the NX Alpha, the Enterprise, chief engineer, T'Pol, Lizzie's death, the Xindi, the nightmares, T'Pol, T'Pol, T'Pol. The sun-burned streets of ShiKahr, childhood excursions under the bright heat of 40 Eridani, father's robes, Mount Seleya at sunrise, control, discipline, the trauma of taking sentient life for the first time, appointment to the Science Directorate, humanity, humans, Commander Charles Tucker III, Ambassador Soval, being raped by Tolaris, Charles Tucker, Enterprise, Sim, emotions, confusion, Trip.
Trip remembered each one, saw them in his mind. He sunk into them, his life, all his... but not. More life than he could have lived in his time, more memories than could fit. It made no sense, he remembered Quincy and ShiKahr as home. He... no, not he... he wasn't himself, not entirely, not alone. He was they... they was she. T'Pol. T'Pol was there, in his past, in his mind, just as he was in hers.
Her presence flew to him, wove into his being in an intricate tapestry. Trip couldn't tell where he ended and she began. He never wanted to find the demarcation. He swam in her, basked in her spirit, her soul, even as he cradled her to his.
He felt all of T'Pol, everything he knew she was and the things he didn't know she could be. The emotional being behind the Vulcan barriers, the woman of a thousand passions and a thousand and one defenses against anyone seeing through to them. But Trip saw... he saw straight to her very core, every shred of who she was bared to him, his own being layered and exposed for her to know.
He loved her.
And in this place, this bodiless space without pretense, he knew she loved him, too.
He found his lungs again, his heart again, somewhere in the distance his body lived, and it was not alone. Like a timeless waltz he heard his heart and hers, beating as one, their breaths matched, their minds sending out roots to each other, binding and holding. His mind to her mind, her thoughts to his thoughts. They were one.
*****
Captain Archer looked up from the computer console in his ready room at the door summons chime. "Come in," he called and at once turned in his chair, for the moment setting aside his work, as he saw the Denobulan doctor enter the small room.
"Doctor, I was hoping for a chance to speak with you as soon as possible. Did you get a chance to look at T'Pol?"
"Yes, I did."
Well, is there anything wrong with her?"
"In a manner of speaking." To Archer's frown of confusion Phlox added, "She is physically and mentally unfit for duty."
"What is it?"
"Captain... I need your word that what I'm about to say will be held in the strictest confidence."
Archer, sensing a long-winded diagnosis coming, gestured Phlox toward another chair in his ready room. "Of course, Doctor. Please."
Phlox sat down, took a breath, then started, "Captain, what do you know about Vulcan biology?"
What followed was a straight-forward, in-depth description of the Vulcan pon farr. By the end of the clinical explanation of the intense mating practices of Earth's prudish galactic neighbors Captain Archer was looking at Doctor Phlox with a thoroughly agape expression on his face. He felt like he had in his sixth grade sex education class when the teacher had given him his first 'birds and the bees' talk that didn't begin with 'when a man and a woman love each other' but instead had launched into sordid details unspeakable to a thirteen-year-old boy.
Archer had to fight the impulse to squirm in his chair like a preteen and wondered fleetingly if he could ever look T'Pol in the eye again.
That, of course, had to be brushed aside so that Archer might deal with this medical emergency as a dutiful, responsible captain.
"I see," he grasped for words. He cleared his own throat. "So, if I understand the situation correctly, T'Pol is in mortal danger from this... condition?"
Phlox gave a half-nod, half-shrug, mental train obviously switching tracks though he didn't at once enlighten the captain to his thoughts.
"We need to change course and head to Vulcan," Archer ordained confidently.
Phlox sucked in a breath and Archer braced for whatever he would say next. After the last five minutes he was prepared for anything.
"Captain... were you aware that Sub-commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker are involved?"
Archer blinked. He'd been prepared for anything but that.
"Excuse me?" It was almost funny. He'd seen those two butt heads more times than he could count. No one could get T'Pol's goat like Trip, he was one of the few people Archer knew that could get a rise out of the unflappable science officer. For the longest time he'd been holding a silent bet with himself on whether the two would settle on being enemies or friends.
Phlox didn't look like he was joking.
Archer sobered quickly. "No... I didn't know anything about that." His mind flashed to all the times he'd been inclined to favor on the 'friends' side of the Trip/T'Pol debate, and then there was that small matter of discovering T'Pol had spent her shore leave at the Tucker family home.
Archer let out a small sigh. "I guess I don't really need to ask you if you're sure about that?"
"Hardly," Phlox replied, "I have already spoken with Commander Tucker today on the matter. Incidentally, this unexpected intimacy between the commander and sub-commander manages to address our problem of finding someone to 'mate' with T'Pol."
Archer felt like he should not be hearing this about his friend and his first officer, at least not from the doctor. Trip should be spilling these particular beans to Jonathan in person, preferably over a bowl of popcorn and a recorded game of water polo. It should have come out over a little male-bonding best friend time, not via a medical report.
"Well... that's good news," Archer lamely commented.
"Fortunate to be certain. I came to update you on the situation and to inform you that I've placed both Sub-commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker on medical leave."
"How long... um, how long do you think they'll be on medical leave?"
"I imagine a couple of days will be sufficient. Well, sufficient to resolve the pon farr, although there is also the strong possibility that Commander Tucker will require additional time to recover from injuries he may sustain during their... ahh, shall we say amorous self-medication?"
"Is he... is he in any serious danger from this?"
"There is the chance of severe injury, yes. I told the commander that when I was explaining the situation to him. He seemed rather unconcerned with his own well-being, to tell you the truth. Don't worry, I plan to be on emergency stand-by just in case something unpleasant befalls the commander."
"It'll be hard to explain a mysteriously injured chief engineer to the crew."
"Yes, that is a somewhat tricky situation, but I'm working on that as well. If all goes well we can keep the sub-commander's privacy intact."
"Well, I'll trust you to see to it then, Doctor. I'd like you to keep me informed if, ah... well, you know."
"Of course, Captain, you'll be told immediately if there are any complications."
With that the Denobulan left the captain's ready room and Archer sat a long moment letting the information sink in. Trip and T'Pol, together.
He'd need a few more hours if to decide if he thought that was a good thing or bad.
Back to Chapter 14
Continue to Chapter 16
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