Knocking- Part 2

Knocking at the Gate

By Aquila

Part Two

Rating: NC-17, this section: R
Disclaimer: If I owned Trip and T’Pol, A Night in Sickbay would never have aired.
Summary: In the Delphic Expanse, complications arise as a result of previous choices made. This is an alternate universe, with spoilers.

==

Effort, resistance, friction, movement - he repeated the cycle, stretching his muscles to their limit. With his arms extended at right angles to his body, he pushed against the water, so that his head and chest broke the surface. With the downward sweep, he submerged himself, then followed through, with his arms, which pushed him forward, propelling himself through the water. His legs followed, kicking efficiently, close together, barely making a ripple on the surface.

The cool water flowed under, over and around him, breaking against his pecs, pushing against his abs, flowing through his hair, his toes, and along his spine. Effort, resistance, friction, movement – effort resistance, friction, movement.

When he was close enough to shore to touch bottom, he glided. His arms stretched ahead. His hands, palms together, cut the water. He rolled his body playfully, enjoying the warmth of the sun on the parts that were monetarily exposed. Reluctantly he dropped a leg so that a toe dragged in the sandy bottom. Then he floated, like a dead man, face in the water, sun warm on the back of his head.

The need to breathe became paramount so he lowered his limbs and stood. Water rolling in rivulets down his body, seeking the paths of least resistance. His chest hair matted with beads of water that sparkled in the sun. The water tracked downwards, around his navel, then coming together again below to follow his hairline, disappearing at last in the thatch of hair at the juncture of his legs.

Her eyes tracked the water as it sheeted over his thighs, losing itself at last at the upper curve of his calf, when it rejoined the lake. Movement drew her eye up again. Still unaware of her regard, he unselfconsciously ran his hands threw the hair on his head, so that another smaller cascade of water traveled south. Then he stretched, expanding his chest, tightening his biceps and abdominal muscles until he stood chiseled against the sky.

Her eyes roved eagerly from the wide shoulders, along the lean rib cage to his waist. She lingered at his navel, recalling the feel of his skin under her fingertips. She had never been bold enough to explore further, so she let her eyes travel where she had not.

He was being watched. He could feel it. He narrowed his eyes to reduce the glare from the water. There - on the shore - She was awake and she was staring. Unembarrassed, he moved toward her, comfortable and confident in his skin and masculinity.

She thought he was beautiful, pale skin glistening in the sun, muscles rippling as he moved toward her. His legs working powerfully as the moved against the pressure of the water that surrounded them. She shivered in anticipation.

==

“We have an encrypted subspace message from Lt. Reed, Captain.” Ensign Sato announced.

“I’ll take it in my ready room.” Archer rose from the command chair. “Maintain orbit, Travis. Hoshi keep your ears open for enemy chatter.”

Characteristically Malcolm’s message was short and to the point. “The packages were delivered, if in somewhat battered condition.”

At his orders, Enterprise and the shuttlepods were running silent. Scans were being kept to a minimum. Engines were on impulse. He did not want to attract the attention of friend or enemy.

Battered condition, he mulled that over. Trip and T’Pol were on the surface, but not in the best of conditions. Trip had an emergency beacon with him, to activate if the situation became threatening. They must be coping. He wasn’t sure that he was. Jealousy was corroding his spirit.

==

He stood on the sand before her, his head cocked at an angle, questions in his eyes, yet he said nothing. She continued to drink him in. Eyes darting here and there, lingering for a moment or a lifetime, as her fancy took her. The cool offshore breeze dried his skin and made the hair on his arms stand on end. Yet he said nothing.

Her first touch was tentative. A finger trailed across his abdomen. His manhood stirred in response. Then her finger followed one last bead of water that dripped from his chin to his chest and lazily rolled down his torso. Her touch left heated skin in its wake.

His pulse rate jumped when with two hands she stroked his biceps, increasing pressure on the tender skin of his inner elbow, then dragging softly on his forearms. He resisted the urge to pull her to him. And he said nothing.

She began to murmur in Vulcan. He did not comprehend the words, but the tone was universal. She was a female admiring her male. Her incantation calling up the tenderness and desire locked in his heart, accessible only to her. And he said nothing.

She moved closer so that she could rest her cheek against his chest over his heart. The steady, deep rhythm of life was hypnotic. When she took his nipple between her teeth, he let out a gasp. With her tongue she soothed him, licking away the blood she had drawn. And he said nothing.

She stepped back so that she had all of him in her sight. Slowly she drew down the zipper of her flight suit, the sound loud in the air. His eyes followed the zipper down, down, down. Yet he said nothing. She withdrew her arms from the suit, pushing it down so that it bunched around her waist. She watched him watching her intently.

She crossed her arms, gathering the hem of her undershirt in her hands. Upward she swept, removing the shirt in one fluid motion. His eyes darted about the exposed skin. His hands clenched, in and out, in and out. She was unfettered from the waist up. The sunlight on her skin cast a sheen the colour of newly formed leaves. He watched fascinated as her breasts puckered and tightened. Was it the wind, or was it his gaze? He held his ground and he said nothing.

He was communicating with her in the most primal way. Each time she removed a piece of clothing, his desire visibly increased. A stout branch had begun to sprout from the thicket of hair between his legs. She continued to murmur as she undressed one piece at a time.

His breathing became shallow when at last the only item of clothing she wore were regulation panties. The branch had become a tree. All his muscles tensed as if he wanted to pounce. Yet he said nothing. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties to draw them down, millimeter by millimeter. His eyes followed, their pupils dilated. He chewed his lower lip. His chest muscles bulged. His arms bent at the elbow, as if he were preparing to reach out and take what was his. And he said nothing.

She stopped tugging on her panties when he could the lumps in her abdomen were exposed. They were the size of ripe plums.

“It is time, Charles, to knock at the gate.”

He fell to his knees on the sand and reached for her in the way of her people, speaking the traditional words, “Allow me to unlock the gate for you, T’Pol.”

==

Maintaining orbit was the most boring part of Travis Mayweather’s job as a helmsman.

The voice of his father roared from his memory, “Keep alert, Travis. A ship is most vulnerable when maintaining orbit with a bored crewman at the helm."

With the words of his father echoing in his head, he checked the instruments one more time. No anomalies, at least not yet.

Travis had time to chew away at the puzzle that would not let him go. Why had the Captain sent T’Pol and Commander Tucker to the surface together. The excuse, a mission to scout a base for covert operations, was plausible. But his reason for separating them in the first place was still valid. The ship could not afford to lose the two of them at the same time.

Thinking of Trip and T’Pol brought memories of Ensign Cannington. She had accepted his rejection. The next movie night was awkward, but Hoshi had come to his rescue. How she knew he needed rescuing was another puzzle, but she had.

She had sashayed her way over to him. He recalled how her hips had swung in a way that made a number of jaws drop. When she reached his side, she had plastered herself against him. A stray breast rubbed his arm. She had placed a hand on his shoulder and had nuzzled his cheek in a way that made him glad senior staff hadn’t been around to witness it.

Pat had made her excuses right about then. Hoshi kept up the pretense, by pulling Travis into a seat beside hers. The second biggest surprise occurred when the lights went down. When no one could see, he reminded himself. Hoshi had entwined her arm through his and clutched his hand. She spent the entire movie pressed against him. But the biggest surprise came later, when he realised he liked it – a lot.

==

“You have the key, Charles.” She trembled, her body speaking the apprehension she refused to mouth.

Trip grazed the swellings. She winced. He let go of her.

“Darlin’, this isn’t the place for this.” He held out two fingers and waited.

No one had waited as often or as long for her as he had. He was an impatient man who had shown infinite patience, earning her trust. She touched his fingertips with her own, literally placing herself in his hand.

With only the slightest of pressure, he encouraged her to accompany him across the sand to the camp that he had raised around her as she slept. As the walked, he increased the finger pressure in increments so minute that she was unaware at first of the effect he was producing.

He swept aside the tent flap, then led her through with his fingertips. When she had gone as far as his reach would allow he let go. She was instantly bereft. Folding herself into the fetal position, she sank into the nest of sleeping bags he had arranged.

Seeing her distress, Trip settled by her side. Close enough to reach her with his fingertips, but at a distance that made the choice of joining hers. He ran his fingers along her spine, down a thigh to the soft spot behind her knee, then back. He repeated the caress over and over until she unfolded, blossoming at his touch. She rolled onto her back, slipped her hands under her head and her legs splayed. Her body language invited him to explore.

“You’ve accused me of talkin’ too much from time to time, T’Pol.” The smile in his eyes took the sting away. “But I got to ask ya some questions. I know that fumblin’ around the first time is pretty standard for human males, but you aren’t human – and well – I’m not in any mood for fumblin’.”

==

Travis checked his instruments again. Nothing. He stole a glance at Sato. What would the regs say about a relationship with her? He made a list. There was no direct chain of command, as they reported to the same officer, T’Pol. They were equal in rank, having made ensign at the same time. Travis smiled to himself – a gray area – at the discretion of the captain.

He glanced at the controls, then pressed the comm button. “Captain, incoming and they aren’t ours.”

The ready room doors slid open. Archer stepped through calmly. He wanted to run, but it was his job to lead not create a panic. “Travis, go to warp – get us out of here.”

“But Sir,” Hoshi protested, “The commanders.”

“Now Ensign.”

==

T’Pol reached out for him. He covered her. His pelvis pressed against hers. His arms slid under her shoulders. He crushed her breasts flat with his chest. Her legs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossing, heels resting on his buttocks. Then she arranged three fingers of one hand on his cheek.

To Trip, the sensation was as if he had been hit with an electrical charge that quickly faded. Startled he tried to pull away. She restrained him with her other arm, while she reminded him of their purpose pressing her pelvis against his. Her swollen ovaries rubbed against his abdomen.

She began to murmur in Vulcan. It sounded as if she was repeating the same phrase over and over. The murmuring had a calming effect. He moved his right hand so that he could slide it between them. He began to massage one of her ovaries, which turned the murmur into a moan.

He became aware of a tickling sensation that crept from her fingers on his cheek upward to his forehead than back into his skull. The tickling became a buzzing that became the sound of klaxons and sirens. Then he felt relief, like waves breaking against the shore. The waves became insistent - the other one, please, the other one, please.

This must be what an out of body experience feels like, he thought? T’Pol removed her hand from his cheek. The tingling stopped, but the waves of relief kept pounding his consciousness.

“You want me to massage your other ovary?” The answer was yes, although no one spoke. He was not sure he had spoken his question out loud.

He sat so that he could do as she had asked. When his left hand joined his right that was when he understood. The rhythm of his massage set the rhythm of the waves of relief. He was feeling what T’Pol felt.

How’s that, Darlin’? Harder? Okay. Oh boy, T’Pol, I can feel you winding up, getting tight like a spring. He felt her shudder, so he shuddered with her. My, oh, my, Beautiful. That was as good for me as it was for you. What’s that? It’s time to unlock the gate? I don’t understand.

T’Pol severed the meld

End of Part Two.

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