His Smile-text

His Smile

The Scribe

Email: lsuter@bigpond.ne.au
Rating: NC17
Summary: An interlude between Tucker and T'Pol following the events of the Expanse.
Disclaimer: The character names belong to Paramount. This fiction was written purely as a smut biscuit for het lovers.

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His gaze meets mine across the room and I see the familiar gleam in his sea-colored eyes.

No one else recognizes it for what it is; there is no reason that they should. It is a meaningful stare meant for me alone, a signal of need and an invitation for something more intimate than the indifference it appears to convey. We are in the mess hall but I noticed him alone at his table long before he had lifted his mind from his dark thoughts to see me. Within the noise and animation of the room, he was an island of loneliness floating in a sea of cheerful voices that must seemed profane by his reckoning.

His gaze brushes mine briefly and I feel my heart leap at the sudden dance of firelight in eyes I often found were windows to the heart of what he was, so different from the persona he played for the crew and the Captain. No one notices our contact. There is no reason for them to. For all anyone knew, we were fellow officers acknowledging each other’s presence in the room, a mere show of courtesy. I put down the PADD that had occupied my attention so completely and offer a plausible excuse to make a polite exit from the table since I would be leaving my plate half full. I suppose I could be called an optimist for describing it in such a manner but I prefer the term pragmatic.

I make my way across the mess after my departure from the table, conscious of eyes watching me even if I know in reality only one person noted my exit. His eyes brush past me as I walk by his table before he lowers his gaze to his food, picking at it the way he has become prone to doing in the last few weeks, ever since it happened.

I have tried to draw him into discussing it but my efforts are clumsy and it only angers him. Sometimes, I think I draw far too much pleasure from his rage since it is vented in such a pleasurable way. When it is abated however, I feel the guilt of using it to my advantage but I also see the sorrow he feels for using me to assuage his pain. We are both so full of contradictions. Perhaps that is why we have found this odd place in the center of a storm where there is quiet and comfort.

I walk along the deck leading to the lift that would take me to my quarters. The change in venue is recent. Before it used to take place within his quarters and this would be my destination. I recall briefly, staring at the wooden frames surrounding the pictures of his family. Instead of using holo-images, his memories of home were on archaic paper coated in silver, photographs I think they are called. His life fascinates me just like he has from the moment I met him. To me, it is inconceivable to live as he does, with his emotions so close to the surface, where impulse was generated into action before thought could act as intermediary. I rather admire his ability to feel so unashamedly and wonder what it is to go through life without placing such restraints upon oneself.

I hear footsteps against the steel floor as I reach the lift. I do not look back because I know it is him. I have developed an uncanny ability to sense his approach that I cannot explain but has proven to be fairly accurate. The footsteps pause behind me and I hear breathing, expertly measured in each breath. I recognizing the substance of it and feel myself grow more confident that he is behind me. It does not matter whether I can see him or not. When I step into the lift, I shall have my answer.

The doors part as if knowing what my mind was thinking and I step in casually. I start to turn as the hydraulics begins to seal the lift behind us. I see only the deck disappearing beyond the closing door because he is standing before me. No sooner than the world is shut out before us briefly, I feel his mouth against mine, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss of passion. I am driven to the wall by the power of his kiss and as his mouth begins to devour mine, I struggle to catch my breath. He pins me with his body and I feel taut muscle pressing against my flesh, making it difficult to do anything but submit to the relentless demand of his mouth. My hands slide across his back, relishing the feel of muscle beneath his uniform, enjoying the sensation of having his hard chest crushed against my breasts. He is a guilty pleasure I can no longer resist, much like the pecan pie he once introduced me to.

He is merciless and he assaults my mouth with more hungry desire than I can manage. In such close confines, the heat of him against me is searing and the temperature within the lift, as it continues obliviously to its destination, begins to rise. For the brief minutes that it takes for it to reach the level where my quarters are situated, I am completely slave to him and it is control I gratefully relinquish.

This thing between us had begun months ago and we were comforted by the fact that neither of us were expecting it to become more than it was. Before it had happened, before everything for him had changed, I sensed he had desired more than just this stolen moment of empty pleasure. He never made mention of it for fear that I might choose to end our intimacies permanently. I wonder how he would have felt to know that I was similarly concerned that he might one day decide that we could not continue these trysts. I wonder what he would think if he knew just how intoxicating he is. How much he fills a need inside me I did not know I craved until I heard the satisfied groan that came from his lips following his first hard thrust into my body.

The lift slows to a gradual halt and I am allowed to capture my breath as he pulls away and stands at a respectable distance from me, as much as could be managed in our present confinement. I lick my lips as if that would conceal the swell caused by his insistent kisses. He runs a hand through his dark gold hair and adjusts his uniform to ensure that no one has reason to suspect what we had been doing. We appear little more than two travelers on the same journey when the doors open, completely respectable.

I walk out first, glad to see that the corridor is empty. At this time of day, most of the crew would be at the mess or in their quarters, enjoying their own off duty hours. It is not far to my quarters and I make my way there briskly, once again aware that he is behind me. I reach the door to my inner sanctum quickly and activate the panel that will allow us entry. The sooner we are away from the corridor, the better. Of course, there is nothing wrong with the Chief Engineer paying a call to my quarters, we have served together for two years now and could be considered friends even if no one knows we are lovers.

The door slides open and I step in, moving to the side like a thief sneaking into the scene of the crime. What is about to happen is certainly sinful but it is no crime. It is a mere satisfaction of need, a mutual exchange of pleasure between two people who need it. There are times when I almost convince myself that this is all it is even though there is a place inside me that is beginning to convince me otherwise. I wait for him to enter through before I seal the doors and we are finally alone. I see his shadow move over my body but briefly before I am forced against a wall once more, my mouth taken up by his with even greater ferocity than before.

This time there is no restraint in his actions and he holds me in place as he plunders my lips and forces his way past my teeth to duel wetly with my tongue. I succumb to him as always because during these moments, I do not mind allowing him to take the lead. It makes for a pleasant change. He pushes hard against my body and I feel through the friction of cloth between us, the hard ridge of flesh that is his arousal pressing against my belly. A surge of moisture gushes through my insides in a corresponding response as my legs part slightly and one of his slips between them. His thigh presses hard against my sex and he gently thrusts to ensure that I am stimulated by this action. When I moan, I feel him harden even more.

He pulls away from my lips and I feel the room spinning. I wonder if he knows what power he wields in his kisses. Were I any less than what I was, I would be completely lost to him. He is now planting soft, tender kisses against the line of my jaw, tracing a torturous path down my neck. My head rolls back and rests against the wall as I feel his mouth tasting the flesh of my neck, his hands pushing up against my breasts in an effort to possess me. There is really no need. He is seared upon my psyche like a branding iron and as I feel my senses become more and more unhinged by what he is doing to me, the subconscious thought that I belong to him already, escapes my mind involuntarily.

My fingers run through his satisfying hair and then down his back, relishing the taut muscle that I was forced, on some many occasions, to apply gel to in the decontamination chamber while keeping my baser instincts at bay. If I were any less disciplined, it would be impossible He is incredibly beautiful to look at beneath his clothes. His form is sculptured and fine, muscles where it is needed but not enough to appear vain. Someday, our cultures will make it permissible for the women of my people to appreciate human masculinity in all its beauty.

For now however, this is my delight alone.

He is becoming harder and I am no longer content to feel his manhood pressing against me. I drape my hand over his back, cupping his well-developed buttocks before sliding it in between us both. His determination to moisten me before we had even unclothed ourselves makes it easier for me to return the favor. I relish the groan of pleasure that escapes him when my hand encloses his thick shaft. His eyes darken at the contact and his lips leave my neck long enough for him to stare at me with unadulterated lust. I see him struggle to maintain his composure as I stroke him gently through his uniform, aware that the coarse fabric was playing havoc with his senses.

Something akin to a growl escapes him before he pushes my hand away and grasps my rear with both of his hands. Giving me little warning, I am hoisted off the ground, my legs reacting to this sudden elevation by wrapping themselves around his waist. He starts thrusting against me, penetration prevented by two layers of fabric. It does not matter; his hips are moving rhythmically and the pressure against my inner folds drives me wild with desire. This time it is I who capture his mouth in a frenzied kiss, it is I who am holding his face in one hand while raking my nails across his back in pleasure with the other. I can feel the heat building up inside of me and knew that even if he did not impale me with his length, he will bring me to climax nevertheless.

“Put me down,” I whisper, barely aware my words, conscious of my need.

He obeys even though he does not wish it. I reach for the zipper in the front of his uniform, unable to endure the sight of it when it prevents me from basking in the beauty of his flesh. He sees what I am about and helps with divesting the blue coveralls with swifter speed. I lower the zipper all the way down and halt when I am on my knees before him. I see his breath catch as he discerns my intention and the hard column of flesh that has been the instrument of his torture earlier is now freed for my pleasure. I caress the thick rigid shaft with my cheeks and see his head tilt back in pleasure. His eyes are closed and if I could, I would have smiled. His breathing has become ragged with anticipation; I can see the clenching of his stomach as he braces himself. It amuses me to no end to see him trembling.

I do not prolong his torture and lower my mouth onto his weeping cock. Predictably, he bucks at the sensation but I am ready for him. I hold his hip to keep him steady. I am familiar with how undone he can become when I am pleasuring him in this way. I hear his breath become pants as my mouth slides up and down the length of him. Despite his need to thrust uncontrollably into my mouth, to hasten the journey of pleasure being afforded by my lips, he gently caresses my hair as he moans incoherently. I hear my name on his lips and feel a gush of heat within my depths. If there is any sound sweeter than this, I have yet to hear it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”

He chants it over and over again as I suck him harder and harder, pulling more and more of his unwilling juices into my mouth. I taste him with pleasure and enjoy how my lips trace the contours of his swollen cock head. When I probe the slit with my tongue, I am rewarded with a whimper of such intense pleasure that I am almost undone myself. How is it was possible to become so completely unraveled by just his voice?

“Fuck this,” he growls suddenly and I feel his hands dragging me to my feet. I lick my lips in pleasure, savoring his taste almost as much I am savoring his unleashed passions. His eyes are dark with hunger, dark with lust, I wonder if he knows I am here or remembers who I am beyond the body that he will soon possess completely. It does not matter, I am in the same thrall and I cannot wait any longer. I need him. Now.

Whether or not he senses my burning urgency, I cannot say. All I know is that he is sweeping me off my feet and moving me towards the bed as if my weight were nothing. He occupies himself during the journey by the fresh plunder of my mouth. It is my turn to whimper and moan as he lays me on the bed, covering my body with his in an instant. Straddling me, he pulls off my clothes and there is no gentleness in it and I, for one, am grateful for that. With more experience than I wish he possessed, he pulls my uniform from my body, his fingers hooking into my under things and removing the entire outfit in one swift movement.

I lay before him naked and a blush of self-consciousness creeps into my cheeks. It is foolishness of course; we have been in this position too many times for me to experience this sensation. He pauses a moment, the storm that is his hunger is kept at bay long enough for him to rake his eyes over my body. A smile almost curls the corner of his lips and, for an instant, I almost have reason to hope but then it vanishes and in its place, is the same naked lust. His hands slide reverently over my thighs, palms caressing the flesh as he lowers himself between my legs. I try to hide my reaction to this but it is impossible, the glistening juices of my sex give me away.

He kisses my thigh gently at first, attempting to remind me of the torture I visited upon him earlier. I am driven to distraction by how long it takes for him to make his way to the center and when I feel his breath against my folds, I cannot help but hiss in pleasure. He knows no mercy this human as he buries his mouth in my heat and begins to let his tongue do its worse. I can no longer form thoughts as I feel it burrowing past my inner folds, seeking out the pearly bud that would break me into a thousand pieces.

Pleasure.

Sweet, glorious beautiful pleasure.

It is all I can manage to think in this state.

His mouth, his mouth is heaven. What he is doing is beyond ecstasy. I call his name repeatedly as my fists knot the sheets of my bed and my body bucks like an uncontrollable animal under his touch. My folds become a burning inferno at being forced to endure the exquisite delight of sucking and teasing. Upon finding the pearl of flesh hidden within my folds that is my undoing, he nips gently, swirls the tip of his tongue around in a mind-numbing path of exploration. I do not know where one word coming out of my mouth ends and another begins. I scream things at him that I would die of shame if it were ever made known.

I can feel this tightening in the pit of me, that reaching apogee. I want to draw the moment out, to make it last forever because this is too good to waste but it is impossible. With each flick of his tongue, I am becoming more and more fractured. It is like seeing the gradual approach of sunrise until there was nothing but blinding light. If the analogy is correct, then at this moment, I am fast reaching supernova. I am shaking hard, my body trembling and he knows it and the knowledge empowers him with more determination to send me tumbling headlong into climax.

It sweeps through me like fire and I utter a hoarse cry as my body is suffused by the wave of pleasure. He laps my juices as if he is a man dying of thirst. I feel him nourishing his lust upon me and I can do nothing but bask in the sensation that has robbed me of any will but that of pleasing him. He raises himself onto his knees in the wake of my descent, wiping his lips with the back of his forearm, his body glistening with sweat. He is still unfulfilled, as is evidenced by his fully erect cock, jutting purposefully in my direction. I start towards him in an effort to coax him into my depths so that he can find his release with as much pleasure as I have.

However before I can do anything of the kind, I am grabbed by my legs and flipped promptly onto my stomach. He catches me by surprise by this action but I am strong and capable of enduring anything he wishes to do to pleasure himself. After what I have just experienced, I can afford to be magnanimous. I feel him moving up behind me and, as his hands round my hips, I brace myself for his entry. I do not have long to wait. He slams into my body hard; his lust banishes any possibility of tenderness. Not that I would want it. He impales me all the way in one smooth thrust and I can do nothing by groan at the beatific pleasure that is wrought through me by his invasion.

His possession of me is complete and once he is inside me, he does not pause to accustom himself to the sensation. Since the event, our lovemaking has become this frenzied display of lust and possession. It is no longer an exchange of need but a contest to see who will break first. On this occasion, I am happy to concede defeat.

He fills me completely and I am certain that for the rest of my life, no one else will be able to engender the pleasure I feel at this moment with him. His fingers dig into my hips as he intensifies his movements, sweeping aside such poetry from my thoughts, replacing it again with the raw and hungry lust. I throw my head back when he slams into me, relishing the pleasure of the hard thrust. I can feel his cock swelling impossibly within my depths, as if my pleasure heightens his. He thrusts again to see if I will react in kind and this time I reward him with a low, animalistic groan. I am on my hands and knees like a rutting animal and I could not care less as long as he does not stop.

A grunt of pleasure escapes him and I know he cannot maintain this sensual assault any longer. He begins to pump into my body with a sharp and steady rhythm, his cock pistoning into my depths at a relentless pace. The sense begins to drain in my mind as my breath is forced out my lungs with each hard thrust. His nails dig into my flesh as he pounds me harder but there is pleasure in that pain and I groan for him not to stop, to keep going until I am splintered into a thousand fragments.

He rams harder, until my teeth chatter and my limbs ache but I do not care. He rides me like I am his animal and never in my life have I enjoyed being anyone’s beast of burden. His grunts drive me mad with desire and as he continues slamming into me, I can gauge the decline in his control by his verbal exclamations of pleasure.

“Oh darlin’,” he mutters in that curious accent of his. “You feel so good, you feel so damn good. I love you darlin, I love you.”

It means nothing of course; I know that, even at a heated moment like this. However, humans find that it an appropriate thing to say during their couplings, though why they would place so much weight in a simple biological function is beyond my ability to comprehend. I do enjoy it when he loses control completely because it usually means that he is very close. It is just as well. I do not know how much more I can endure without losing my senses completely. Hearing him cry out in abandon forces me further down the path of my own release. There is something about hearing him so utterly exposed and needy that turns my hunger for him into a maelstrom I am unable to control for all my discipline.

My climax rolls over me with as much brutal force as he is taking my body. I close my eyes and let it tear through my being. My throat is dry and hoarse from my moans of pleasure while the rest of me reverberates with waves upon waves of astonishing sensation. My inner muscles clench around him and if there is anything left in him that could resist the rising heat of pleasure, the fist of flesh that grips his manhood ensures that it is torn away completely. Suddenly, we are riding the wave together and as I feel the jet of fluid inside me that I know to be his emptying seed, I find myself crying out again.

“Trip!”

“Oh Christ darlin!” His voice joins mine as I feel him continue to push into me as he empties all his pleasure into my body. These interludes are the only time that I ever address him by his nickname. It is an intimacy I permit only within the walls of this room and previously in his. As we descend together, I lower myself against the bed and find it extremely satisfying when he collapses on top of me, his sweat mingling with my own. I imagine what would happen if Captain Archer should choose this moment to make one of his unexpected visits into my quarters to tell me something that simply could not wait, only to be confronted by the sight of his First Officer and Chief Engineer in a tangle of sweaty limbs reeking of sex.

If I had a sense of humor, it would almost be funny.

He slides off my body and lies next to me on the bed, allowing me to drape my arms around his neck as I rest my head against his shoulder. These are the moments that are truly jarring for both of us. Before, it had been simply sex but now, when we cradle each other like this, it feels like more and it is frightening.

“Trip,” I say to him, noting the empty way his eyes are staring at the ceiling. Already, he is starting to slip away from me. “It is healthy for humans to speak of their grief.”

“Maybe,” he answers quietly but I can tell by the way his jaw tenses that he is unhappy that I have brought up the subject of his sister.

I do not know what else to say. Emotions are a subject I have little experience with and my own are becoming too confusing for me to dare offering advice to anyone else, so I remain silent and will continue to do so while his heart bleeds for his dead sister and his need for vengeance burns brightly. It is not logical but then so little is these days.

I look at him as the mask of hidden grief returns to his face and realize what I miss most of all since the Xindi became known to me.

His smile.

THE END

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

This was breath-takingly sensous, filled with an aching sadness but also a kind of poetry. A place Trip and T'Pol have found in each other where they can at least know a measure of peace and comfort - and relief - if not healing. A sanctuary from a grief whose name they cannot speak yet I sense a very gradual movement back towards the light. It will be a slow and painful journey but each step will be a little less agonised that the one that came before. This was wonderful and I salute your ability to draw such a lot of emotional content out of what is such a bleak moment in time. Bravo! I do hope you plan a sequel but whether you do or do not this story is a fabulous gift. Thank you so much, Ali D :~)

Wow! This was fantastic! I'm at a loss for words for the moment, but this was so beautifully written from T'Pol's point of view. I'd love to see a prequel along with that sequel, should you be ambitious enough to do more.

I was all set to hop up and down a couple glasses of ice water... then you dosed the delicous passions with the pain of the ending.

HOT HOT HOT!!! and so wonderful.

I really liked your story alot from T'Pol's point of view I hope you'll write a prequel that would show how they ended up together and hopefully a sequel to The Smile you can really feel their pain at the end I think you havea really good beginning for a series.You write with alot of emotion in your story that leaves you wanting more stories.Thanks for a wonderful read.

Steam's rising from my ears. I'd definitely love to see a follow-up to this. Well written.

I want his smile back, too! This was a truly wonderful story. You captured both characters' desperate need for the other perfectly. Thank you very much for sharing this!

This was a beautiful story from T'Pol's point of view. Keep 'em coming.

*turns on air conditioning to cool off*

WOW! That was amazing! one of the best i've read!

yep . . . hotttttttttttt! Thank you!

Awesome! Please continue this story! I look forward to reading more of your work.

Ummmm... I need a very, very cold shower.... If you ever write more, know that I'll be reading them all!!! I'd love to write as beautifully as that!

Ummmm... I need a very, very cold shower.... If you ever write more, know that I'll be reading them all!!! I'd love to write as beautifully as that!

Great story, I think you should write Trip's point of view as well.

I must say out of the stories on here, i think this is a very strong contender to being my fav. I do like this one alot as i like the kind of ironicness of it where though she doesn't express emotions (although i think we all can blatently tell that is not 100% true) she misses HIS smile. I just love the poeticness of it all. Loving it. I do hope to read more Trip and T'Pol stories from you.......... and hopefully of this nature as its quite a story. Not only is it just simply hot its also well written. Great job really.

You´ve left me completely breathless. What a story! WOW! So there´s probably no sequel, hmmm?

I adore this piece! I do not think of it as "smut biscuit". It is very good!! The emotions T'Pol has are perfect. Total denial but they are there!

this story came highly recommened.

and with do course!!

XXXHOTXXX