Incursions - Text

Incursions

By Elaine

Rating: NC-17 for lots o' smutty goodness. But there's also a plot and character development and everything, I swear!
Disclaimers: Paramount owns 'em, not me; I just like to play with them once in a while.
Summary: The mental connection between Trip and T’Pol is growing, and they're both very...confused.
Spoilers: Everything up to right before “The Aenar.”

Thanks to my betas: Ludjin for her support and tjinloca for being a grammar queen!

***
In the years she had served aboard Enterprise, T’Pol of Vulcan had learned a great many unusual things about Commander Charles Tucker III.

He liked to eat dessert before dinner. He cried at movies. He possessed a photographic memory. He preferred to read bound books over PADDs. He was fond of hideously patterned, short-sleeved shirts. He could touch his nose with his tongue. He was stronger than he appeared, possessing stamina and endurance that rivaled any Vulcan male...

No. She shifted slightly in her meditation position. Bad enough that she was thinking about Trip at all, let alone allowing her thoughts to wander in...that direction.

It is not my fault, she thought--almost peevishly, if Vulcans possessed such an emotion as peevishness, which of course they did not. He is constantly bludgeoning me with his thoughts. No surprise that I am thinking of him. It is only logical, considering the circumstances.

For T’Pol had also recently decided that Trip Tucker was almost certainly a telepath.

This should not be possible, she thought. All Vulcan references to telepathic ability in humans were summarily dismissive. It was simply categorically impossible, they stated. Their brains were far too primitive to contain the required neural structures.

Leave it to Trip, of course, to be categorically impossible.

As she embraced the teachings of the Kir'Shara, and reexamined her Vulcan heritage, she had decided to expunge her conflicted feelings for the human male. The opposite, however, had occurred; she had, for some unknown reason, become exquisitely attuned to him. And since he was totally unaware of what he was doing, he had been sending every passing thought far and wide to any remotely telepathic being in the vicinity.

There are probably individuals on Betazed who are tired of listening to him, thought T’Pol, and she would have smiled if Vulcans had a sense of humor, which of course they did not.

The end result of Trip's broadcasting was that T’Pol was exhausted. She had to maintain her mental shields during every waking hour to keep his constant inner monologue out of her brain. It was tolerable...barely...when he was physically distant from her, but when he was nearby or became agitated, she could both hear and see his every thought.

In short, Trip had found a new way to exasperate T’Pol while doing absolutely nothing at all.

Even more difficult was the fact that in the past few days his thoughts had taken a decidedly...prurient turn. Though Trip was ordinarily as prone to random fleeting sexual thoughts as the next male, lately it had become first and foremost on his mind. He was walking around almost constantly aroused.

Worse, constantly aroused by her.

If she relaxed her guard for even a minute, the chances were excellent that he would inundate her with memories of what they had shared, what he had done to her body. How she had wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out as he--

No. Enough! She shifted again in her meditation posture. She could not seem to get comfortable lately; she always felt unsettled, needing something, like some itch she could not quite reach.

This was clearly all his fault.

He is a human. He has no control. He cannot master his thoughts and impulses.

Eager to blame him and absolve herself, It never occurred to T’Pol that her own restlessness, her own unmet needs, could be partially responsible for the nature of Trip's current preoccupations.

***

It was easily the worst fight they had ever had.

And that was saying something.

Trip couldn't even remember how it had started. Something about her diverting power to the sensor array without telling him. It wasn't even that big a deal, if she hadn't been acting like such an icy, condescending, ball-breaking, pointy-eared bitch...

And he had lost it. Totally, completely lost it. At the morning staff meeting. In front of the entire bridge crew.

"Do you know how you treat people? Do you hear yourself, fer Chrissakes?"

"I'm sure I don't understand, Commander."

"You act like you're so damn superior, like the rules of common courtesy don't apply to Your Highness. You don't need to let anyone else in on your plans. You don't need to collaborate with the bridge crew. You don't need to tell me that you're diverting power from the engines to the sensor array, and I'm the Chief goddamn Engineer!"

"The amount of power required to make the necessary scans was well below the threshold of--"

"That's not the point! The point is you make arbitrary decisions and ignore the fact that there are other people here that have needs! What if we had encountered hostiles? What if we suddenly needed warp five capability?"

"The power diversion was not enough to prevent the..."

He was in her face, shouting. "YOU DON'T KNOW THAT! You may think you do, but you don't. I do, because that's MY goddamn JOB, not yours!"

"Commanders..." Archer began. Trip didn't even hear the captain speak. He drew himself to his full height and glared at T’Pol with pure venomous anger.

Her eyes, icy cold with rage, bored into his. "Stand down, Commander."

"I'm not done here, T’Pol."

"You are done here, Mister Tucker. You will address me by my proper rank, you will refrain from using vulgar language, and you will STAND DOWN."

Despite her Vulcan control, her cheeks flushed green-bronze. Her nostrils flared. She was pissed.

And she had never looked so beautiful.

As they faced each other, inches apart, something passed across her features. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Then the cold impassivity returned.

"Dismissed, Mister Tucker."

"Aye, Commander." Imbuing her rank with every ounce of sarcasm he could muster, he grabbed his PADD off the table, resisted the urge to hurl it directly at her head, and stormed out of the conference room, all eyes on him in shock.

Once he made it to the turbolift without being hauled off to the brig for insubordination, Trip began to calm down a bit.

He had overreacted. Badly. Yeah, she had done something without asking him, but it really was a minor transgression--and there wasn't another ship within twenty light-years of their position, which pretty much shot to hell his "Warp five in ten seconds" hypothetical.

So why had he flipped out on her like that?

Because he was cranky--restless and unsettled. He just couldn't get comfortable in his own skin lately.

Plus, he was horny. Unbelievably horny. Fifteen-year-old-with-a-dirty-magazine horny. He hadn't had this many ill-timed, rock-hard erections since high school.

And all of his excessive sexual energies were fixated on his heartless, soulless, frigid Vulcan ex. His ex who routinely treated him like utter dirt.

The nearer he stood to her, the worse it was. The images and thoughts that ran through his mind when she was nearby...he didn't even know he could be that pornographically creative.

Even when he was screaming at her, wanting to throttle her, the thoughts were going full tilt.

Only a few moments ago, when she glared at him with pure murder in her eyes, he was thinking about how much he wanted to hoist her up on that conference table and fuck her blind, make her scream and beg underneath him...

And for a split second her face had changed, and he was suddenly certain that somehow, she knew.

But that's not possible, he told himself. How could she know how badly he wanted her, wanted to feel himself sliding into her wet heat as she cried out with pleasure...

Jesus. He was hard. Again.

He leaned back against the wall of the turbolift and banged his head in sheer frustration.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous.

***

"Archer to T’Pol."

T’Pol was in an alcove off the cargo bay, manually recalibrating the sensor array to better analyze anomalies detected in the nebula.

She had told the Captain she preferred to work down here because she wished to be near the array clusters in case the adjustments caused an energy overload.

But that was a lie. The recalibrations could have easily been done from her station on the bridge. To put it bluntly, she was hiding.

She pressed the comm button. "Yes, sir."

"T’Pol, I expect your presence at Captain's mess this evening. 1800 hours. The three of us have some things to discuss. " His voice brooked no protest.

"Understood." She switched off the comm. This had to be about this morning; T’Pol bit the inside of her lip in contemplation.

She had been wrong, and she knew it. She outranked Trip, but that gave her no right to divert power from the engines without informing the Chief Engineer.

Why had she done it? The truth, although painful, was simple. She hadn't asked him because she was avoiding him. Being near him meant being inundated by his thoughts. By his feelings. By the images that rose, unbidden, just from standing in the same room with him.

She and Trip had been at each other's throats this morning. She felt the anger burning inside him as he locked his eyes with hers. The rage had flared in her, and she had raised her voice to him. And as she stared him down in a battle of wills, she saw the startling beauty of his blue eyes, the high, symmetrical planes of his cheekbones.

Almost instantaneously, his scent had changed. The metallic bite of anger emanating from him grew musky with arousal. So close, almost touching, she saw his thoughts clearly. How even in his anger he wanted to lay her across the table, unzip her uniform, feel her breasts hot and heavy in his hands. How he wanted to take her, hard, right there, wanted her so badly that for that split second nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. And for that moment, just that one moment, if he had jumped on her in front of the entire bridge crew...she would have welcomed him.

Confused, embarrassed, and extremely aroused, she had fled.

Alone with her thoughts, the unanswered questions swirled in T’Pol's mind. She had never felt like this before. In the past she had felt the occasional sexual urge, but this overwhelming desire was completely foreign. She wondered if this was how it felt to be triggered by a mate in pon farr.

There is no Vulcan male within 20 light years of this location, she reminded herself. And furthermore, you have no bonded mate,

The vague beginnings of a suspicion began to form, and T’Pol crushed it ruthlessly, deeming it too ridiculous to contemplate, even momentarily.

With a barely restrained sigh, she turned her attention again to the nebula scans. Only a few moments passed, however, before her thoughts began wandering again to the source of her unease. She found herself wondering what he would choose to wear tonight, and how the fabric of his shirt would feel as it ripped like paper under her hands, revealing the fascinating downy hair on his pectorals...

This was going to be a very long dinner indeed. With no witnesses to a display of weakness, T’Pol put her head down on her arms and groaned.

***

"...And now I have to have dinner with her."

Trip was repairing a microfracture on one of the impulse manifolds. It was busywork, really; any crewman under his command could have easily taken care of it. But fixing it himself meant he could lay low for awhile, and have a talk with his most trusted confidante about the crazy thoughts that refused to leave his brain.

Her name was Shirley, and she was beautiful.

Trip knew her inside and out. He should; he had built her with his own two hands. The first deep-space Warp Five engine. He loved her with an intensity that anybody who wasn't an engineer would have found...well, probably a little odd.

Jefferies had named her, really. During construction, at least once a day Trip would present him with an innovation or revision, and Jefferies would sigh, "Surely you can't be serious." At some point in Trip's mind the name had stuck, and she had been Shirley to him ever since.

He liked talking to Shirley. She was a great listener, she didn't judge him, and she needed his attention, unlike some people. He just made sure that no one else was around during their conversations; he had worked too hard to hide his inner tech geek and appear like a reasonably well-adjusted person.

Shirley didn't mind. She understood him.

As Trip worked on the engine, he discussed the events of the past few days with her.

"What the hell is going on with that woman?" he asked. "Ninety percent of the time she treats me like something stuck to her boot. But then sometimes..." he shook his head. "Sometimes I swear she looks at me like she hasn't eaten in a year and I'm the last bowl of plomeek soup in town."

Trip sighed. "And then there's me. What the hell is going on with me? Why can't I think about anything other than sex? I'm thirty-five years old, for crying out loud. What happened to my self-control? I have serious responsibilities here, Shirl. And I can't even string two thoughts together because I'm thinkin' about T’Pol."

Trip laid down his scanner and picked up the plasma torch. "And I'm not gonna go into specifics here, 'cause I know you're a lady, but the things I find myself wantin' to do to her...Damn, I'm no kid, Shirl, I know how to please a woman, but I don't even know where I'm coming up with some of this stuff." A vision of T’Pol naked, on her hands and knees before him, filled his mind. He forced the thought away, a bit regretfully. That was a nice one.

"I don't know what to do, Shirl. I gave her space, I gave her time, I gave her everything she asked. I was a nice guy while she stomped all over me. I get that she doesn't want a relationship. I get that the Vulcan-Human thing is too much for her to handle.

"Doesn't mean I don't still want her."

He paused, carefully formulating his thought, realizing he was on the brink of some sort of revelation.

"I'm so pissed off all the time because I still wanna fuck her, and I can't."

He flinched a bit inwardly. Nice language, Tucker. But he didn't care. He was angry as hell at her, and it was about time he was honest, at least to himself, about the reasons.

But why was she angry at him?

He almost dropped his torch when the revelation hit him.

Maybe she feels the same way. Maybe she still wants you, monkey boy.

No. It wasn't even possible.

Was it? He considered the hypothesis.

He couldn't help but smile. "Whaddaya think, Shirl? Maybe I should go over to her quarters and offer to screw her brains out just so we can stop hatin' each other."

It didn't sound like a terrible idea. He even considered it momentarily.

Even so, it wouldn't fix anything, Tucker. Know why?

He knew exactly why. His voice shifted to a mocking singsong falsetto. "'Cause you lllllooooooovvvvve her, you damn idiot."

He loved her. He hated her. He was tired as hell of her treating him like crap. And in an hour, he had to sit across a table from her, be polite, and try not to commit murder, all the while thinking of the multiple filthy things he wanted to do to her.

What a godawful mess he was in, and even though he fixed things for a living, he had no idea how to fix this one.

***

Dinner was predictably horrible.

The food was yet untouched. T’Pol and Trip stood at attention as the Captain had lectured both of them endlessly about chain of command and respecting others and the unity of the crew, et cetera, et cetera.

T’Pol held Archer in the highest regard, and owed him her life several times over. But even she had to admit, the man was overly fond of making speeches.

At least he has not made reference to his time in Africa, she thought wearily. Yet.

"...and I expect you two to be able to put aside your differences and work together for the benefit of Enterprise. Am I making myself clear, Commanders?"

"Aye, sir," they both murmured in unison.

On impulse, T’Pol raised her eyes and stole a glance at Trip. He was dressed casually, in a black knit shirt that was interestingly snug across his well-developed chest and arms, and a pair of faded blue pants that sat low on his hips.

Ensign Sato calls those pants 'Commander Tucker's look-at-my-fantastic-ass jeans', T’Pol remembered. It was a devastatingly accurate description.

No. You are not going to consider any part of the man's anatomy, she told herself sternly.

No matter how fantastic it may be.

Briefly distracted by her train of thought, she forgot to look away when Trip raised his eyes and caught her staring at him.

Caught unprepared, she was inundated by his thoughts. She saw herself spread naked on the dinner table as he knelt between her thighs, his hot tongue lapping at her, swirling around her most sensitive place...

His face remained impassive, but his eyes bored into hers, daring her to look away.

The restlessness and unease she had been experiencing coalesced into a white-hot flame below her navel. For a moment she thought her knees would fail to support her.

Yes, her body whispered.

He was still staring at her. She felt like a cornered animal, pinned under his unyielding gaze. She had never been so aroused in her life.

NO. Her Vulcan control reasserted itself. Her will was stronger than her body. She would not allow him to make her feel this way. She shielded herself against him, pushed out the offending desires. NO .

"Commanders?" Archer was staring at both of them in confusion. They had been standing there, eyes locked, for over a minute. "Shall we sit?"

T’Pol turned to the captain, a look of near-panic on her usually placid features. "Captain, I am feeling quite unwell. With your permission sir, I would prefer to return to my quarters and rest."

Archer now looked positively baffled. "Of course, T’Pol. Would you like me to have a steward bring some--"

She had already turned and gone.

Trip breathed a silent sigh of relief. Thank God she was gone. Her nearness, her scent, were enough to completely do him in. But why had she left that way? Why did he feel as if he could sense the panic and confusion in her? Why did it seem as if he could still feel her, some odd tickle in the back of his mind?

Most of all, how did he know with absolute certainty that she had fled because she was every bit as turned on as he was?

Trip shook his head. That's insane. You of all people don't have a clue what's in her head. You're just projectin' how you feel on to her. She hates you, remember?

But he wasn't sure of that anymore. Not at all.

"Trip?"

Trip snapped out of his reverie and turned to Archer. "Cap'n?"

Archer gestured at the closed door T’Pol had just fled through. "What is going on with her?" His voice softened. He was talking to Trip as a friend now. "For that matter, Trip, what is going on with you?"

Trip sank down into the nearest dining chair. "I swear to God, Cap'n, I wish I knew."

"I need both of you operating at full capacity, Trip. Can you promise me that the two of you can work this out?"

No, Trip thought.

"Yes, Cap'n." Please let it go, Jon, he silently begged.

"Okay, then we'll leave it at that." Archer sat down. "You want to eat?"

What I want is a cold shower, Trip thought, and then a smack upside the head with a hydrospanner. Beat some sense into my skull. Please.

"Sure, Cap'n. And I could really use a beer, if ya got one."

***

T’Pol had been meditating--rather, attempting to meditate--for almost two hours.

Her soft white space was impossible to reach tonight. Every time she managed to clear her mind, calm her breathing, and reach for serenity, he appeared.

She could see him, wonderment in his eyes as she stood naked before him. She could feel his strong arms around her. She could taste him on her lips, salt and musk and just a hint of the engines he tended. She could feel him inside her as she straddled him, gazing down at his rapturous face.

The thought bubbled up before she could suppress it. Why? Why did you send him away?

Because he cannot be a part of the life I have chosen, she told herself sternly. Ruthlessly, she pushed him out of her thoughts. She could control this. She could control the whisper of him she felt inside her brain. She could control her mind.

But her flesh was not so easily tamed, and the burning ache inside her cried out for him. She felt so helpless before this merciless onslaught.

Look for him. Driven by her body's raging desires, she impulsively lowered her guard and sought him out. She found him easily. He wasn't far away; likely he was in his quarters, only a few doors down.

He was thinking of her.

Go to him. He will welcome you. The thought of his strong hands touching her made her shudder helplessly. No. I have strayed so far already... Her rational mind sounded weak, indecisive.

He wants you as you want him. His thoughts filled her mind. They flooded her with heat, with longing, with pleasure.

Reject his thoughts. Stop this madness! her mind commanded.

But she didn't.

***

Trip lay on his bunk, staring at precisely nothing in particular.

Three beers and a porterhouse steak hadn't really helped his situation, but it hadn't hurt, either. After the first beer, Trip's theory about T’Pol's behavior seemed a lot less likely; by the third he had decided that he imagined absolutely everything.

Maybe I should go see Phlox. I probably picked up some weird spore that makes me hyper-horny and prone to constant sexual fantasies.

Trip got up and stretched as he yawned. Only 2000.

I should track down Travis, see if he wants to hit the gym, he thought. But his heart wasn't in it, and the third beer had made him a bit tired, so he decided to take a shower and go to bed early.

He realized his mistake the second he stepped under the hot spray. T’Pol loved to do it in the shower, he remembered. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of her scrubbing his back, his chest, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes giving her away as she reached lower...

His hand found his erection and caressed it. He stroked himself as he remembered pinning her body against the wall of the shower, the water stinging needles in his back as he thrust into her again and again and--

Stop it, Tucker.

Why? He argued with himself. It's not something you haven't done a thousand times. Or probably ten thousand.

Giving in to...unable to complete the thought, he settled for turning off the shower and seeking his answers elsewhere.

***

T’Pol looked into his mind as he fantasized about her in the shower. She felt the roughness of his callused palm as he pleasured himself.

Somewhere this had gone from observing to spying, she dimly realized. But she was riveted by the way he touched himself. She knew human males did that, and frequently; she had often wished to watch him while he did so. The thought of it increased the pressure building in her lower belly.

Then he stopped, and she almost moaned aloud in frustration.

Don't stop.

***

He dried himself off, noticing that the cold air had done little to ease his raging hard-on.

Don't stop. A whisper in his brain.

Trying to ignore the signals his mind and body were sending him, he flung the towel on the floor and crawled into bed.

As he lay down, the whisper came again.

Please, don't stop.

Then the images filled his mind. He saw her lying on her floor, robe open, candlelight dancing across her naked body.

Giving in suddenly seemed the absolute right thing to do.

***

Please, don't stop, she begged him.

Her body was on fire. She was dying for him to touch her, to taste her, to move inside her.

Utterly possessed by her desire for him, she did something she hadn't done since her adolescence.

She undid her robe and lay back on the cushions. Her hand slid down between her legs, and felt the soaking wetness there. As she found and rubbed the most sensitive place, she reached to find him.

Blinded by the heat of her body, she crossed a critical line.

She entered his mind, moving from observer to participant.

***

In his mind, he was watching her. He was in the shadows, and he was watching her pleasure herself.

In his bed, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and commenced a long-practiced rhythm.

***

In her mind, he was watching her from the shadows while she pleasured herself.

On her floor, lying among the meditation cushions, her fingers worked the sensitive nub of flesh as she felt the pleasure flood her body.

***

He stepped from the shadows. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only jeans. She froze.

"No, darlin'. Don't stop. Keep goin' for me."

She obeyed, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her as she touched herself, massaged herself, feeling the waves of bliss building up inside her. Her other hand reached up and played with her nipple. He was watching her perform this most shameful, private act, and she reveled in it.

***

He gazed at her, her robe undone, her perfect bronze body sheened with sweat as she gave herself pleasure. He was utterly transfixed by her, by how much he wanted her. He watched as she came, as her body shuddered and she cried out and her hips bucked against her own hand. He felt the echoes of her orgasm in his minds as if it were his. It was unbelievable.

***

As the peak of her climax subsided, he knelt down next to where she lay on the floor. She opened her eyes to find him looking directly at her. He took her hand, fingers wet with her juices, and gently licked them clean, sucking on each finger in turn.

The clawing need in her, just sated moments ago, began to stir again.

***

He tasted her slick fingers. Lime and copper and something else, something utterly alien. He wanted more of her; he wanted to bathe in the flavors and textures of her body. He cupped her breast, full and soft and hot, and bent his head to suckle at her nipple, as she panted and squirmed underneath him. He explored the contours of her breast with his tongue, dipping into the valley between them, tasting the droplets of perspiration that gathered there. He moved between her spread legs, traced a path, slowly, carefully, down her abdomen, to her navel, holding her hips still as he licked lazy circles across her flat belly.

He could feel her straining under him, could feel the frustration and need rising in her, could feel her pelvis twitch as she sought the contact she craved. Only he could give her what she needed, and he could deny her, he could tease her, he could make her beg for him.

The power and control he felt sent an electric surge through his body. He moved lower, kissing the inside of her thigh, flicking his tongue against her outer folds, tasting the droplets that clung to her soft, sparse fur. She growled, and her strong hands clutched at his head, trying to guide him to her most sensitive place.

He stopped and lifted his head. A wicked smile crossed his face. "Oh no, darlin'. Not yet."

She moaned brokenly in frustration.

***

The moan ripped through her as he pulled away, as his torturous tongue left her body. She was dying, burning alive in her need for him. He had reduced her to an animal, without control, without conscience. She would beg, grovel, do anything for him to give her what her body craved.

He got to his feet and stood over her. She heard the dry rustle of fabric as he took off his jeans.

"Open your eyes, T’Pol. Look at me."

She did as he bade her. His naked body in the candlelight was unbelievably perfect, gorgeous and strong. His erection jutted out, as beautiful as the rest of him, fully alive. She wanted to touch it, feel its silky smoothness. Another gush of hot wetness flooded her thighs.

"Get up." This was not the man she had known. This man had power over her, could control her, knew she would do anything he asked and take pleasure in it.

Keeping her eyes locked with his, she slowly rose to her knees. As she knelt in front of him, she reached for him, stroking him, marveling at the feel of him in her hand.

"You know what I want you to do," he murmured. It was not a question.

She took him in her mouth, tentatively in first, and as he gasped and moved against her, she grew more aggressive, savoring the taste of him. His hands entwined in her hair, he rocked against her mouth and she could feel his pleasure echo in her mind. As she ran her tongue along his length and felt him shiver, she marveled at how good it felt to give him this pleasure, to let him use her so.

***

He shivered at the feel of her tongue along the length of him. Her hot mouth again engulfed him enthusiastically, as he held the back of her head and guided her motions.

He barely recognized himself. The dark pleasure he found in controlling her, in making her do his bidding...this was a part of him he had never known existed.

And she liked it. He could feel her excitement as she knelt before him, taking in his full length. She wanted to please him, to satisfy him. It met some unknown need in her as well.

He felt her reach in his mind, find what would bring him pleasure. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his wet shaft, stroking him as her tongue circled the head, gently probed the slit. The feelings were indescribable. He watched her do this to him, and he knew that she would bring him to climax if she continued. The idea of coming in her mouth, against her lips and tongue, was incredibly appealing. But he desperately wanted to be inside her; he wanted to feel the slick heat of her body as she spasmed around him.

He stilled her with his hands against her head. As he pulled out of her mouth, her dark eyes glittered with anticipation. He reached down and gently wiped off her wet lips.

"Turn around," he said softly.

***

He used his hands to position her as he wished.

Shuddering in anticipation, she felt his fingertips rake along her back, down the curve of her buttocks, brushing against her most exposed area, totally open to his gaze.

"So beautiful," he whispered. His fingertips caressed the sensitive shell of her ear and she closed her eyes against the assault on her senses. He knelt down behind her, and she felt his weight against her hips.

His voice, dark and ragged with lust. "T’Pol. Tell me what you want."

"I want you...I want you inside me."

"Do you want me to fuck you, T’Pol?"

The word was unknown to her, but the intent was unmistakable. "Yes."

"Say please."

"Please, Trip, please, please," she panted.

He took her with a ferocity that made her gasp. This was so different from the times before, when he had been gentle, tentative. There was no tenderness in him now, no kindness, only his raw animal need of her. He was hurting her, and the pain made her cry out, but she welcomed it, felt the pleasure blossoming out of the pain, felt her insides tighten and her spine tingle as he grabbed her hips and thrust into her again and again, merciless.

She welcomed him, moved with him, ground herself back against him. She felt the wave rising inside her again, rendering her mindless, heedless, only aware of the relentless pain and pleasure that was destroying her, burning from the inside out, consuming her alive.

One hand moved from her hip to her breast, kneading roughly as the other reached between her legs and stroked, sending new sparks of pleasure through her overloaded nerves, making her mewl like a wounded creature. His weight was on her back as he bent over her. His breath was hot on her ear as he whispered.

"Let me feel you, T’Pol. Come for me."

She obeyed him, screaming as her orgasm ripped through her body, so intense she was sure she was dying--but it felt so good, as her womb contracted and wave after wave of bliss washed through her endlessly. Distantly she heard a guttural moan and his own climax echoed in her mind as he shuddered, giving her the heat and life inside her that she craved.

***

He felt her muscles tighten around him as she came, bucking wildly under him, head thrown back as she cried out uncontrollably. The sight of her in climax as he rode her was unbearable, pushing him over the brink into his own oblivion. His body exploded in pleasure as he came, harder than he ever had before; strangled moans caught in his throat as his seed spurted inside of her, again and again. He felt as if he would never stop; he wanted it to never stop. He wanted to feel like this, inside of her, for eternity.

His orgasm finally ebbed and subsided, and he returned slowly to his senses. He briefly rested against her fragile spine, hearing her heart hammering like a caged bird beating its wings.

A random fragment of thought passed through him.

Mine. I've made you mine.

***

She was empty, wrung out, exhausted. She couldn't remember her name. She couldn't remember herself. She watched him blankly as he turned away from her and stood, pulling on his jeans.

***

He turned away from her and pulled on his jeans.

What now?

Walk away, the wounded, vengeful part of his mind whispered. Don't even look at her. Leave her used and alone. Show her how much it hurts.

No. As much as she had hurt him once, his anger was gone. She had pushed him away out of confusion and fear. She had never meant to wound him.

He would never, never injure her so. He loved her.

He turned back to where she lay, curled on her side, looking so small and lost among the cushions. He retrieved her robe and covered her. He bent and kissed her lips deeply, softly. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her delicate ear and smiled.

"Sleep now, sweetheart." T’Pol nodded and closed her eyes. She was unconscious almost immediately.

Asleep, she slipped out of his mind, and he found himself alone again.

Trip's eyes opened and he found himself looking at the wall of his own quarters.

He was alone, and he was a sticky, sodden mess. He reached over for the discarded towel on the floor and cleaned himself off.

What in the name of God just happened?

He would think about that later. Right now he was drained, sated and very, very tired.

Tomorrow, I'll figure it out, he decided. Then he slept.

***

T’Pol's eyes opened at her usual waking time.

Why was she sleeping on the floor?

She was sore all over. Especially...

She sat bolt upright. The thin robe covering her slid to the floor.

Trip.

Suddenly she remembered everything.

Did he know? Had he sensed her presence? She decided it was unlikely. That was small comfort, however; She knew exactly what she had done to him, and the thought of it made her ill.

She had entered his thoughts without permission. She had taken advantage of his unshielded mind for her own selfish, craven needs.

She had violated him.

She had raped him.

Guilt and shame at her actions twisted white-hot in her gut. She was an abomination. She was a monster. She clutched her knees to her chest and rocked herself. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks.

How could she set foot outside her quarters? She dreaded seeing him. She couldn't bear to look in his eyes. This is the consequence of losing control, she thought. I betrayed him and shamed myself.

T’Pol began to formulate her penance. I will ask the Captain to take me to Vulcan immediately, she thought. I will tell him it is a medical emergency. I will undergo Kolinahr...I will confess my transgressions there.

Having a plan, a framework, calmed her. She realized that she could not hide in her quarters all day. She would have to summon all of her will and force herself to go to work. There was no logical alternative. The ship could not suffer because of her selfishness and fear.

As long as she remained on Enterprise, she would go on duty, and work with Commander Tucker as always, and appear perfectly serene. She would take all of these disastrous emotions and lock them away, bury them deep inside, and present herself as the blank, emotionless being she was supposed to be.

And then she would go to Vulcan and be purged. She would never feel again.

Soothed by the thought, T’Pol rose to shower, to wash away all evidence of her sins.

***

Trip stepped into the shower and gasped in pain as the spray hit him. He gingerly inspected the damage; his flesh was raw and sore.

Jesus, killer. Leave a little skin next time. He scrubbed quickly and carefully, deliberately avoiding the train of thought that would lead him to examining the events of last night.

Wrapping himself--cautiously-- in a towel, he contemplated his face as he lathered up and started to shave. Doesn't look like the face of a crazy man, he thought. But the other option sounded equally crazy: that T’Pol had somehow been with him last night. He had fantasized about her before, probably hundreds of times. But last night had been different, crystal clear and lucid. Last night had been utterly real.

But it wasn't. Was it? He shook his head and wiped his face. He needed to talk to T’Pol. The idea didn't thrill him. They had been so angry at each other lately...

Angry. He wasn't angry anymore. He felt strangely upbeat, optimistic, even cheerful. In short, he felt like a guy who had been well and thoroughly shagged. Which he supposed he had been. Sort of.

He found himself humming tunelessly as he dressed. Maybe he could talk to T’Pol. Maybe they could work things out after all.

And maybe pigs'll grow nacelles and go into warp, he thought. Still, even the idea of talking to T’Pol about...what happened...wasn't even enough to dent his mood this morning.

***

T’Pol focused her entire attention on the PADD before her. Nobody else was in the room. Commander Tucker was definitely not there, leaning against the wall because he had arrived late and all the seats were taken. Nothing existed but the report on the table. Nothing.

"T’Pol, have the nebula scans been completed?"

She was so intent on refusing to acknowledge his existence that she didn't hear the question.

"T’Pol?"

She startled slightly, recovering almost instantaneously. She raised her head and looked at him. His blue eyes met hers. A memory rose, unbidden. Those eyes, gazing at her as she knelt naked before him...

NO. That did not happen. He does not exist. "They will be completed by 1400, Commander. At that point the power diversion will cease."

He smiled and waved it away. "No big deal, really. Shouldn't have gotten so upset about it yesterday. 1400 is fine."

She did not answer him, returning her full focus to the table. She felt his conciliatory mood waver in confusion. She pushed him out of her mind. He was furniture. He was inanimate. He was nothing to her. She felt nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. She repeated the mantra in her mind.

Around her, the staff meeting began to break up. She willed herself to stand and move toward the door. Trip was still leaning against the wall. He was waiting for her. T’Pol felt the panic in her chest and shoved it away.

There is no panic. There is no fear. There is nothing.

He spoke her name as she neared him. "T’Pol, wait."

She walked past him into the hall. She had heard nothing.

T’Pol entered the turbolift and pressed the door close button. She could not deny the relief as the doors slid closed.

A strong, callused hand stopped the doors. As they opened, Trip entered the lift.

T’Pol ignored him and stared straight ahead. She did not respond to the scent of him, she could not smell the faint traces of last night's exertions under the fragrance of soap and shaving cream. She felt nothing.

"T’Pol."

"Commander."

"T’Pol, I..." He hesitated.

He knows.

T’Pol did not feel the uncertainty around him, the confusion growing. She did not feel the shame and guilt flooding her body. She felt absolutely...

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

***

He hesitated. T’Pol was ice-cold in her silence. She was pushing him away, fortifying the brick walls around herself and going to that place where he could not reach her.

Trip was suddenly at a loss for words. Everything he had decided made perfect sense in front of the bathroom mirror, but now faced with her blankness he wavered.

What are you gonna say? he thought. "I had the most amazing jack-off fantasy last night and I think you were there with me"? Frankly, that sounds more than a little mentally unstable.

Impulsively, he touched her shoulder. A wall of feelings and images boiled up at him. It was true. It had been real. She had been with him.

T’Pol slowly looked up at him. Though her eyes were devoid of life, he felt the emotions that raged inside of her. Misery, guilt, fear. She thought she had hurt him. She thought he hated her.

We were both there, he thought. You didn't do anything wrong. I could never hate you, sweetheart.

He couldn't confront her like this. She was hurting so badly already, bringing it out into the open would only push her further away. Without fully knowing or understanding what he was doing, he tried to send her his care, his concern, his love.

Aloud he said, "I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better."

A look of confusion crossed her face. Then she nodded.

"Yes. I felt quite unwell when I left dinner last night. It has passed."

Trip took his hand off her shoulder, immediately missing the closeness of her thoughts. "T’Pol...I'm sorry. I've been a real jerk the past couple days. I don't want us to fight anymore."

Although she still looked blank, the stony edge of her stare was gone. "I no longer wish to argue with you, Tr-Commander. I apologize for any unpleasantness on my part, as well."

Trip smiled. "So we can try to work this out?"

T’Pol inclined her head. "We can indeed try."

The lift stopped at Engineering and the doors opened.

"Guess this is my stop," Trip said as he left the lift. Before the doors closed, he impulsively turned around and placed his hand on the door to keep it open. "T’Pol, we didn't get to have dinner together last night. You wanna make it up tonight?"

He was sure she'd say no.

"Agreed. I will meet you in the mess at 1800."

"Great." Trip grinned. "See ya then, Commander." He released the door. As they closed, he caught a glimpse of T’Pol's face.

She looked as surprised as he felt at her acceptance of the invitation.

***

Behind the closed turbolift doors, T’Pol slumped against the gray wall.

One look, one touch from him and all her resolve had crumbled to dust. All her Vulcan control was for nothing when it came to Trip.

And the most amazing, confusing aspect: He did not hate her. He was not angry or contemptuous.

He was concerned. Gentle. Protective.

She had heard him as if he had spoken aloud. We were both there. You didn't do anything wrong.

That is because he is too naive to understand the nature of the violation, she argued with herself.

Or had she again completely misjudged this human?

The confusion roiled in her. To expect condemnation, and then receive this tender regard...the tectonic plates of her soul shifted. Everything had changed.

Nothing has changed, she told herself. You are far too distracted by this man. You are unable to control yourself around him.

It was true. Trip Tucker was a far worse addiction than the Trellium-D had ever been.

T’Pol knew this could not continue. The only way to return to the path of Surak was to force Trip out of her life for good. She would have to purge these emotions totally, pry Trip from the tenacious hold he had on her heart.

Eventually.

Soon.

But...not just yet, she decided at last.

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!

A whole mess of folks have made comments

Score! I get to pop your comment-cherry! Very hot, very dirty, very well-written. Sweet. Not the kinda thing you wanna read with your grandpa in the room. ;P

OMG! sequel, please!!

Outstanding! I´m breathless and in need for a cold, a very cold shower! Wow! THAT was great writing.

And I´d read a little epilogue or so, whenever you´ll post one... ;-))))

Absolutely incredible. Please do more!

I loved the conversation between Trip and Shirley. "I'm not gonna go into specifics here, 'cause I know you're a lady" - best line ever! ;-)

loved it more please

YAY! I LOVED this little smut biscuit. MORE PLEASE!

what a fantastic story ! You rock !!!!More, more more, please please..

VERY well written. I thoroghly enjoyed reading this. Please do a sequel.

WOAH!

Hey, I want a sequel! :D

Enjoyed this one. Very sexy. Good work.

I always a enjoy a well-written smutty story, and this is no exception!! BTW, loved that new name for the warp engines "Shirley"!! Hilarious, hope you write more.

Whew, this was hot! Put me down for a sequel request as well!

Damn that was to damn Hot an Smutty,,, That Fic should come with a Warning--- "WARNING!!" Male readers are Encouraged not to read this fic before going out in public! May cause severe embarrassment at one's own physical condition.

And I agree we need a sequel... But a lil warnin next time,,, My pants are tight. LOL

Wow! T'Pol mind-raped Trip???? A bit surprised she would do that after the incident with Tolaris but it certainly turned the heat up! Ali D :~)

Wow! Great smut, great characterization, even a plot. Now all we need is a sequel!

Brilliant! Most brilliant!

And you are working on this sequel, yes? YES??

Wow! Seriously hot! I concur with everyone on the sequel wish... :)

Oh wow. This was terrific! I love how you combined the awfully hot NC-17 portion of the story with all the insight and character development. You even manage to inject humor--Trip and Shirley were priceless. Please, please post the sequel as soon as you can. Thanks so much.

Yes, yes, more please!

Oh. My. God. I'm a puddle of ooze. That was...

*dies*

I love the naming of the engine and Trip confiding in it like a counselor or a close friend... priceless! The sexy scenes were incredible but just a bit crude for my tastes...At least both of them were raw and crude and it wasn't just Trip. I hate it when NC-17 fics paint him as a classless f-word spouting redneck. You're gettin' kinda kinky, though! (That's not necessarily all bad... kinky has its place!) I have to admit one thing. My husband was across the room while I was reading this and if he had come close enough to read the screen I'd probably have been so embarrassed I'd have had to turn it off. (I suppose being hot enough to hide you're reading it is a sign of really good smut.) :) - D

I too hope you're working on a sequel. I'm hoping you tie up the UST (?) and Archer finds out somehow they have kissed and made up (sorta speaking). Good story leading up to the end. Looking foward to more soon.

Wow ! Brilliant. cant wait for the next part. Soon please.

All I can say is "WOW!"

Love love love it! Please write more.

Well done! Loved the tension and how they were both equally hot and bothered.

I keep coming back to read this really great story, hoping that you will write a sequel or something. Please? I'm begging, here.

Scarletwitch,

Working on it!

Yippee! Thank-you!

This is great! I keep watching for a sequel! please?

This is great! I keep watching for a sequel! please?

Nice... loved the humour...'Commander Tucker's look-at-my-fantastic-ass jeans' & "'Cause you lllllooooooovvvvve her, you damn idiot." were my favourite lines. Too bad there's no sequel.

Shirley? LOL Memories of Airplane....
"Surely you can't be serious?"
"Yes I am. And don't call me Shirley."

Very cool fic.