C'est pour nous deux, Pt 7

C’est pour nous deux, la lune qui danse

By Aquila

Part Seven

Loose translation of the title: It is for we two, the moon dances.
Note on title: Two lines from Se Rêver, full lyrics can be found at www.brunopelletier.com – once there, click on discographie.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the obsessive/compulsive behaviour.
Summary: A sequel to No More Blackened Catfish or Pecan Pie*

==

He put out the Do not Disturb sign and locked the door. He patrolled the room, adjusting light levels, temperature and curtains. He slid open the French doors to the balcony. A light breeze moved the sheers. Moonlight pooled on the terrace. It was too large to call a balcony. Their suite was on the top floor, in the corner of the building, affording them complete privacy. He had choked when the desk clerk had discreetly shown him the folio. A hot tub gurgled softly in the corner. Body forming loungers were scattered about, with tables in between to hold fruity cocktails on warm summer afternoons.

He snapped his fingers as he recalled another detail. He punched some numbers into the communication device. “Hold all calls, please.” He was tempted to turn off the Starfleet communicating device, but he knew that if they disappeared from Hoshi’s radar a search and rescue party would be dispatched. Better to be interrupted by a discreet voice communication than a heavily armed team of MACO.

A complimentary bottle of champagne had been sitting in ice when they returned to the room. The least they could do at the price they were charging he muttered. He looked toward the bedroom. Female noises emanated from it. His mouth went dry. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Charlie, old pal, he asked that part of his body that had a mind of his own. The twitch in his trousers brought out the sweat on his palms, which he hastily wiped on his pants.

He popped the cork of the champagne bottle for the cooling effect of the glass on his skin. He sighed with relief at the satisfying pop and the wisp of vapor that accompanied it. Opening champagne with aplomb was one social skill he had not lost.

“Charles.”

Terrified and tempted at the same time, he finished pouring before he turned in the direction of the sultry voice.

He dropped the glasses. She stood in the middle of the room, bathed in moonlight, draped in that mysterious piece of nothing. It molded and folded and shimmered over her torso, but left her arms and legs bare. The scalloped hem flirted with him, hinting at secret places and undreamed dreams.

“You do not approve.” He watched her shrink inside the nothingness that covered her.

Ignoring the shattered glass and damp rug, he strode across the room, singular in his purpose. Unaware of anything but the gift of her, he struggled against the air that held him back so that he could not reach her in time to wipe the insecurity from her face.

He lifted her, like a dancer lifts his partner. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. As she lowered herself he invaded her, having released his desire by ripping the waistband of his trousers.

He carried her to the balcony, sliding in and out of her as he walked. Her arms clung to his shoulders. Her mouth nibbling on his neck as she moaned with the pleasure of his invasion.

He straddled a lounger, lowering them carefully so that her back was supported by the chair. Their feet rested on either side, giving him uninterrupted access to her most secret places. His right hand began to stimulate her, causing her to squirm. He held her in place with his left arm, while he continued his steady rhythm of entry and re-entry.

“Look up, T’Pol; the moon is dancing for us.”

She threw her head back, to look skyward, which thrust her breasts forward. While she was distracted, his mouth descended, taking in a nipple and fabric to be rolled and nipped and suckled.

“Charles.” Her head snapped forward and she moaned.

She struggled, trying to back away from the intensity of the sensation he was building. He released her breast, but stepped up the movement of his hand.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me.”

He was certain that it would be the hardest thing he would ever be asked to do.

She shook her head, incapable of speech. So he pressed harder with his pelvis and his hand. He could feel her heightened tension as his climbed, higher and higher.

“Hang on, baby, it won’t be long now. I promise.” The words were spoken through clenched teeth. His control was slipping.

Then she shattered in a thousand pieces, convulsing around him, as she became boneless, unable to hold herself up. He howled with triumph, a primal victory cry.

On the edge of his own satisfaction, with his hand and his body, he drew out her pleasure, so that it was impossible to tell when one wave of pleasure ended and one began.

With one last powerful thrust of his hips, he followed her into oblivion.

==

He awakened with his head resting between her breasts. His legs still straddled the lounge. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, her ankles crossed. They lay flesh to flesh. The wisp of nothing was a scrap of waste on the terrace deck.

He swallowed a breast whole, causing her to move restlessly under him.

“I thought…” she began.

He released her, “Just because my body needs a rest, doesn’t mean yours must.” He slid his hand between their bodies. “Honey, there are a hundred ways for a man to pleasure a woman, especially when he’s between performances…I’m going to show you as many as I can tonight.”

==

At three in the morning, when he awakened to find her in REM, Trip bundled her into his arms and carried her off to bed. When he tucked her in, he brushed aside a stray lock of hair to place a kiss on her right temple.

Despite their night of passion, he was reluctant to slip into bed beside her. That smacked of permanence and commitment. Words and concepts that neither one of them had used during their bouts of pleasure.

He recalled the moment he found the small tattoo in the small of her back. She had been leaning against the terrace railing, watching the moon. He was spreading her legs preparing to enter her from behind, when a stray beam of moonlight brought the tattoo to light.

He traced it with his finger, then his tongue, then his teeth. With each escalation of sensation she shuddered, until she was quivering with need.

“Tell me what it means, T’Pol.” He had taken a breast in each hand, rolling and stretching them, sending shock waves to her core.

Her pelvis rocked with need. “Tell me what it means, baby. Then I’ll take the itch away, I promise.”

She whipped around, easily breaking his hold on her. She bent her left knee, hanging it over his hip. She guided him into her, then began a rhythm intended to distract him.

He bit his lip, drawing blood. “I know you are stronger than I am T’Pol. You can take me anytime you want to and I can’t do a thing about it. You can take my body, but baby, you cannot take my heart. It is mine and mine alone to give or take away.”

She increased the intensity. His knees turned to water. She kept him standing as she took him. Then she stopped.

He cried out in frustration, but could not move, as she held him immobile within her on the very edge of release.

“It is my personal symbol of total logic, given to me in the rite of passage, called Kolinahr.” She bit his nipple. “It is given as a talisman, which is worn around the neck. My career made the wearing of the talisman impossible, so I submitted to mutilation, on your planet. No one has seen it, since the day it was applied.”

He shivered as he recalled the slow fire that she began to build in him, once again.

“Where is the logic in you and me, Charles?”

Her question was a cry of despair and he could not comfort her.

End of Part Seven

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Three people have made comments

Three new chapter in one day! What a treat! And the last chapter was really hot, but now what are they going to do?

Bah. I was right. Trip's giving in to his old ideas about commitment and casual sex. Trip, you fool, stop to consider how comfortable she made you feel at breakfast! Damn, I hate not being able to tell characters that they're being stupid.

Trip, just go for it. It IS more than casual sex here, can't you tell? We can.