Carelessly- Pt 2

Carelessly

By Aquila

Rating: NC-17
Summary: Oops!
Chronology: Follows the story Very Careful. It contains spoilers.
Disclaimer: I do not own them, nor would I want to. The responsibility is too great. Paramount they are yours.

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Part Two

“I need somewhere to put my feelings.”

“Give them to me, T’Pol.”

The cabin rocked with a spatial anomaly felt only by the occupants.

“All of them?” She asked unbelieving.

“All or any of them,” he said stroking her face. “What ever eases the pain, but does not leave you exposed and vulnerable. What happens in here never leaves here. You have my word.”

Tears welled again. She threw her arms around him and buoyed by relief. A damp patch crept across his shoulder as his shirt absorbed the tears. His fingers splayed across the small of her back, tips pressing into flesh, easing the tension in her muscles.

When she stopped sobbing, he suggested she make herself comfortable while he lit the candles, which were inextricably linked to his thoughts of her.

“You don’t know how to begin, do ya?” The realization came to him between the third and fourth candle. “Sticky things emotions, human beings often find it hard to rid themselves of ‘em.”

He was two meters away, a distance he found necessary to put between them, if he wanted to think dispassionately about whatever she had to say. When he was close enough to breathe in her unique scent, a combination of candle wax and exotic spices, his analytical self evaporated.

“Tell me about living among smelly humans.” He knew that scent triggered memories in humans, did it do the same in Vulcans he wondered as he settled on the floor cushion next to her.

“Do you remember when Captain Archer introduced us?” She asked her question with a far away look in her eyes.

“I’ll never forget it.” He grinned. “You came through the door like an ice queen, disapproval in every step.”

“I came through the door full of apprehension.”

The grin disappeared. “I had no idea.”

“You were not supposed to know.” T’Pol took his hand. “I was about to meet the man who should have been First Officer. A man with a reputation greater than the Captain’s for hating Vulcans. I had read your Vulcan intelligence file.”

Trip sat up straight. “The Vulcan’s had a file on me?”

“My people did background checks on every human assigned to Enterprise.” His ego deflated, she continued. “The file told me you were emotionally volatile, outspoken and totally inappropriate for such a crucial mission.”

“Inappropriate,” he sputtered, “Starfleet didn’t have a better engineer.”

“But they had many engineers with greater diplomatic skills.” She reminded him.

He bowed his head to the truth of her statement. “So you came in prepared to be treated with disrespect and anger. And I didn’t let you down.”

He remembered extending his hand in greeting and suggesting she call him by his nickname even though he knew the gestures were anathema to Vulcans.

“Yes, however I experienced something that wasn’t in your file.” She watched curiosity take hold of him.

“Put me out of my misery, T’Pol, what was it?”

“An intoxicating aroma of pheromones and testosterone,” she turned his hand palm up and began to stroke the inner wrist with her fore finger. “I knew the Captain’s scent. This was new. As you were the only other male in the room, I deduced the aroma emanated from you.”

Trip took his hand back to wipe his fingers through his hair. “Every thing you had read about me was true. I was spoilin’ for a fight. I resented you and I hadn’t even met you. Then you walked through the door and it was as if my body had released every last ounce of testosterone into my system. The villain entered disguised as the most beautiful, exotic creature I had ever seen” Trip shifted uncomfortably on the cushion. “So you’ve always known?”

“That you desired me?” She nodded. “In the beginning the scent was most intense when we bickered.”

“You picked fights, just to get a whiff,” his eyes opened wide, “Eau de Trip. If I bottled it, would I make a fortune on Vulcan?”

“You make light of things when you are uncomfortable.” She began to get up. “I’m sorry…”

“T’Pol,” he whined, “I’m uncomfortable because now I know that you could tell what your touch was doing to me during the neuropressure. I thought…well I thought ya didn’t know.” He reached for her hand. “Sit down, please, and tell me what your nose is tellin’ ya now and how do ya feel about it.”

She closed her eyes and let his scent surround her. He was intrigued by the twitch of her nostrils. He had never noticed her make a conscious effort to decipher a scent. She inhaled. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts and felt his body respond. She opened her eyes immediately.

“I have come to expect behaviour like that of Lt. Reed, but not you, Mr. Tucker.” She opened her eyes and glared. “You were testing me.”

“What is your nose tellin’ ya about me and how do ya feel about it, Sub-commander?” He had learned not to make denials when caught red-handed.

“Your desire for me is heightened.” She dropped her voice. “Every pore exudes it.”

“Guilty as charged.” He waited for the answer to his second question.

She grasped his left hand and placed it at the juncture between her legs. The heat and damp he found there spoke more fully than words.

He followed his hand, like a weary traveller seeking a warm fire. His momentum brought them prone on the deck. His hand was still between her legs. His other arm wrapped behind her back. She entangled her fingers in his hair. Their teeth clashed. Their tongues danced. He began to rub the heat and damp. She pushed against his hand in response.

They broke apart to gasp for air. He lay on his back, his chest heaving. She curled up at his side, one leg thrown over his abdomen, one arm under his neck. She traced the bridge of his nose with her free forefinger.

“Tell me about the distaste for touching,” he said between gasps.

“We are a tactile people in intimate situations.” She thought for a moment. “It is rather like how your people view nudity. You would not walk around nude, but you think nothing of touching. Touch for us is erotic, so it is not done in public. We would prefer nudity to gratuitous touching.”

“Archer touches you all the time.” He sat up. “Hell, I’ve been known to touch you. Why didn’t you say something?”

She sat up. “Both of you knew that Vulcans dislike touching. That never stopped you, why would I think that you would respond to my personal request?”

There was nothing he could say to that, so he ploughed ahead, “Why did you agree to Phlox’s suggestion that you give me neuropressure treatments?”

“You needed my help and I had a legitimate excuse to touch you.” If she had been human she would have blushed at the admission.

“How does touching me make you feel?” He felt secure enough to ask, but sufficiently insecure to hold his breath until she answered.

“Like I was handling anti-matter carelessly,” she declared, pulling his t-shirt over his head then pushing him to the floor.

Flat on his back, his arms full of a passionate Vulcan, taking liberties with his body he was hit with another insight.

“What’s it like living with us with your sensitive hearing?” He asked the question in the lightest, smallest voice he could muster.

“Do you enjoy the sound of the surf?” She whispered before inserting her tongue in his ear.

“Most of the time,” he shivered and slipped his hands under the waist band of her pyjamas. “I used to camp on the beach. I loved to fall asleep to the sound of the surf. But sometimes, when the wind was in certain direction the sound was relentless, drove me nuts.”

“Relentless,” she sighed, her hands exploring his chest. “That is an excellent word. Living amongst you sound is relentless. It bangs and bashes and pounds at me.” Her hands found his groin. “When at last I find some peace, then all the private conversations that I could not help but overhear play over and over in my head.”

“Movie night must be excruciating for you,” he observed as she divested him of his trousers, “Noise, close proximity and smells of dozens of people. Why have you stayed on board?”

“In the beginning duty,” she removed her sleep shirt. “When I contracted Pan’ar Syndrome I had nowhere else to go.” She removed her sleep pants. “Then Captain Archer announced his intention to enter the Expanse.” She straddled him.

“And?” he asked certain there was more to the story than she was telling.

“And…through it all, you tempted, teased and befriended me,” she said as they became one restless entity seeking solace and satisfaction in an uncertain universe.

The End

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Oh wow, this is getting intense. Love it! I do hope there is lots more to come. Well done and do keep going. Just got to love Trip and T'Pol and having these insights from T'Pol is like the icing on the cake. Thank you, Ali D :~)

Another WOW! You´ll leave us breathless...

Wow! Talk about a multi-sensory experience! I can imaging T'Pol picking fights to experience the pheromone rush and listen to the pounding of the blood in Trip's veins. Absolutely...

This was an awesome series, very well executed! :)

I hope this series continues. Your writing is wonderful. The choices you make for these characters are not the ones I would in my work, but they're just as valid and they "feel" right for these two - that's what has me so intrigued. Great stuff and I can't wait to read more.

This final scene is just like I've imagined. :-) I've always felt that when they finally consummated their relationship, they would be bantering or bickering back and forth the entire time. Great job!

Oh very exciting. Yes please continue this story line.

*drops of water sprinkle*

I really hate cold showers but these stories require them!

I love this and hope it continued... I must say I'm spolied with one chap/day please hurry with next part:)

GOOOOOOOOOOOD NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!! I hope i will be as good a writer as you someday! Love the story!

:) PS I must see the rest of this story!!!!!!!!!

I've read this a few times without commenting, but I think it's time to say that this definitely deserves a sequel.

I love this story, but......the only thing that bothers me is Trip bringing the bottle of wine! You can't drink alcohol if you're concussed!! Otherwise, a lovely story!

awesome!!!!! Please write a sequel we need to see where trip and t'pol 's relationship goes.