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Get Us Out of Here - Ch 7Get Us Out of Here By Aquila Category: Don’t know until the story ends --
Clan Reed had regrouped in the dining hall for a spot of tea and biscuits. When Malcolm announced his decision to break with tradition litres of tea and kilos of biscuit had been consumed. He associated the refreshment with bogus councils of war and treaty negotiations between family factions. After a lifetime of over reaction and resistance, the situation and the refreshments merited each other. This was a council of war. Here began treaty negotiations. Phillippa Reed harrumphed when she caught Fiona gazing possessively at her son. Mrs. Reed had witnessed that look before at family gatherings. The Scots hussy had seduced every male member of the family with the possible exception of her husband. And the jury was out on that. To give the woman her due, she was not known to repeat her dalliances. Phillippa re-evaluated her estimation of her son. Had Malcolm acquired enough status that Fiona felt compelled to claim him within hours of their reunion? Did we fail to notice? With the merest twinge of regret she recalled the manner in which Frederick and she had switched their emotional allegiance to Byron and Noel, navy men with the right stuff to rise to the top, as had Malcolm, they knew, if he had followed in the footsteps of his ancestors. -- Doubled over, Travis and Hoshi zigzagged across the open ground to cover, following the blinking light the MACOs held to guide them. The loud klaxon and the swaying spotlights disturbed wildlife. For Hoshi it was as if the copse of trees had come alive as unseen wings flapped, owls hooted and beasts scuttled through the undergrowth. They dove the last few meters, head first into bushes that broke their fall, but rustled and snapped from the force of their landing. Hoshi, her face scratched by loose limbs, was face down. Travis was on his side. “Mr. Mayweather,” a concerned MACO with Stewart sewn on his uniform, offered the away team leader a hand. “Assist Hoshi,” ordered Travis scrambling to his feet. “Then get moving. It won’t be long before we are discovered.” The sound of dogs barking sent them scurrying. The enemy were on the hunt and they were the quarry. Travis signalled, sending Stewart and his companion, Hasad, in a wide arc to the left. Hoshi and he took the right, executing the contingency plan, which should the away team be discovered called them to separate into pairs to increase the odds of finding the captain. -- “The alternate T’Pol said that she could not imagine her life without her Trip.” Her words hung in the moist air. “Hush,” soothed the lost soul, revelling in contrasting textures and temperatures and the use of the possessive, even if was in reference to an alternate time line. “There is no alternate universe, no quest to save humankind, no temporal cold war, not now, not here.” He slid his hands filled with towelling downward until one rested on the left side of her abdomen just above her pelvis and the other rested on the right. With the cloth he began to draw slow delicate spirals that whispered lower and lower until his hands came to rest on her thighs. He was bent at the knee and the neck, with her head cradled on his left collar bone. She adjusted her stance to allow one of his knees to slip between her legs. Cradled in his embrace, she closed her eyes, cataloguing every sensation: the tingle that ran the length of an arm to her fingertips; the ache in her loins; the rapid heartbeat; the gasps and shudders in response to his touch. The restlessness had left her. His ministrations were wiping away the fog of uncertainty. Clarity was within her grasp. Trip felt the change in her. She was a coiled spring – taut, ready to release a torrent of energy. Under his hands he felt the muscles of her thighs begin to bunch. Her breathing became study. She stopped murmuring nonsense. She would and could have him. He was powerless to stop her if she pounced. Tucker let go of the towel, which floated to the floor, momentarily distracting her, enabling him to stem the tide of her amorous aggression by lifting her into the air. Her legs dangled over his left arm. Her head fell against his right shoulder. His right arm cradled her back. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Just once, let me lead,” he carried her into the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door shut with his foot, plunging them into darkness. “Tomorrow, when the trains begin to run again, I will follow you. Tonight, follow me, T’Pol.” -- Hoshi and Travis headed for a creek that trickled toward the Pacific on a sinuous path that passed within 200 metres of the tent camp, where they would begin their search for the transponder. “Gently Hoshi,” instructed Travis, “Pretend you are walking on rice paper.” He led the way into the creek noiselessly. Hoshi followed, knowing that only their physical trail would disappear, not their scent trail. Would the compound with which Phlox had injected them confuse the dogs? She prayed it would then focussed on the backside of her team leader. -- Winston voiced the scepticism of the clan, “There are sinister forces in the future that travel through time to disrupt history?” “Yes.” Malcolm was curt. “Re-examine your uniforms. Is the command structure no longer familiar? What of the Royal Family? What happened to Starfleet?” “Royal Family? Starfleet?” questioned the most senior of Malcolm’s cousins, Commodore Winston Reed. “What is wrong with our uniforms? And where the hell have you been for the past three years? In outer space saving Earth from annihilation?” Malcolm suspected that Winston’s scoffing was as much a reaction to Fiona’s switch of allegiance as it was to the highly improbable explanation for his absence that he had presented when his cousins boarded Enterprise. “Do you discount the manner in which you arrived on board this ship,” Malcolm asked forcing the issue. “There are any number of explanations, most of them nefarious,” Spencer the naval architect lived up to his reputation as a forthright sceptic. “Time travel, however, is the least likely,” Cousin Randall, the submariner, had spoken for the entire clan. -- As a safety precaution, Trip had memorized the number of paces from the bath to the bed. He counted them off in his head. His knee grazed the side of the mattress exactly when expected. His halt was as smooth and graceful as his handling of a shuttlepod landing. “T’Pol,” he whispered, “There is a tray of food at 6 o’clock, so when I put you down don’t stretch out your legs for a moment.” Deprived of sight she concentrated on physical clues to understand her surroundings. While in his arms their passage disturbed the night air, which flowed over and under and around her, caressing her bare skin. Where her body rested against his clothing she felt heat from the friction of the tweed on her skin. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of him. Lust coursed through her veins, pumped by a heart straining to begin the physical act of union. Her sense of direction changed, Trip was lowering her, slowly, as if she were a precious thing he did not want to harm. Her backside touched cool cotton then was cradled by softness. When he pulled his arm away from her back, she fell against a cloud of pillows that rose up on either side of her head like the wings of a chair. She kept her knees bent as instructed, so her feet were the last part of her body to touch the duvet cover. She felt the warm, reassuring touch of his hand on her knee for a brief moment. T’Pol heard rustling and the chink of china as her companion moved the tray to a bedside table. The sound of a cork being freed from the neck of a bottle was followed by pouring of a liquid. That sound was accompanied by the aroma of wine. A knife scraped a china plate. Cheese, she thought, he is slicing the cheese. The ripping of bread followed. Trip, carrying a wine glass and sandwich plate, moved cautiously toward the bed, “Put your hands out, T’Pol.” In her right he placed the glass of wine. In her left he placed the sandwich plate, which she lowered to rest on the duvet. She sipped the wine, waiting for his next move, letting him lead and listening. The darkness focussed her attention, stripped away inessentials. It was elemental unlike her need for him, which was complex and, perhaps, unfathomable, a truth of which she became aware only then. Trip drank in the sounds of her, sipping, breathing, and adjusting her position on the bed. He breathed deeply as she had taught him, seeking the calm he would need to prolong her pleasure while drawing from her the secrets she withheld. The bed sank beneath his weight, causing her to tilt to the left. Automatically her left hand dropped to the bed to prevent herself from tipping over. Instead of the expected cool cotton, she found the palm of a rough masculine hand. Their fingers entwined and held fast. Trip leaned to the left, carefully arranging himself so that his left hand rested on the far side of her body, creating an arch through which her legs were stretched. They were connected physically only by their clasped right hands. T’Pol’s head turned at the sound of his disembodied voice, noting the illogic of turning toward something that could not be seen in the darkness. “You have explained that your control of your emotions is slipping.” He had witnessed it too frequently to doubt her. “But you have not told me why. I need to know why.” “I am not proud of my explanation,” her admission was whispered, “You may no longer feel as you do for me when you hear of my illogical course of action.” Trip pled his case, “Honey, the way I see it, we have the physical side of our relationship aced. We’re like hounds in heat, you and I. What we need to work on are the intangibles – like trust, communication and the feelings we refuse to acknowledge. So let’s start with trust. Trust that I will listen with an open mind. Trust that my feelings for you run too deep to be erased by a little illogic. Trust ME, T’Pol.” -- Malcolm, a master of explosives and loud bangs, knew that had he been the instigator of the Big Bang – the ability to travel through time would have been left out of the mix. Time travel was fraught with paradoxes, capable of invoking nightmares. A professor at the academy had returned his examination on the subject with a note: An excellent demonstration of your ability to memorize text, but absent of original thought. To marshal his limited forces in a rescue attempt he must prove the professor wrong. -- Wet and cold, Hoshi and Mayweather clambered up the steep bank that protected the tent camp from being over run by spring run offs and flash floods. Cautiously Mayweather peered over the embankment. Luck had been with them. The much larger hospital tent was directly in front of them about 100 metres away. -- Protected by the darkness, Trip wept and grimaced freely as she spun her tale. He clenched his fist in anger as she told him of the Seleya. He held back when she expressed her loneliness and fear lest his attempt to comfort her physically interrupt her confession. Perhaps it was the effect of the darkness, but something about her delivery hinted that all that she shared was merely a prelude. When the torrents of words finally subsided he repositioned himself on the bed. He gently spread her legs apart to provide room to kneel between them. T’Pol felt the changes a heartbeat after they occurred because the darkness hid from sight the foreshadowing body language. Trip, resting on his heels, began to massage the ball of her right foot. “Why didn’t you turn to me, T’Pol?” “Because the emotions over which I had the least control,” she paused, “Because the emotions over which I HAVE the least control are the ones I feel for you.” Trip turned his attention to her calf, paying special attention to the knots he found. Touching her clinically gave him the control he needed to ask, “Do you need to control them? Are they inappropriate or negative?” T’Pol sighed when one particularly stubborn knot melted under his care. “They are like your legendary Phoenix, consuming me. The woman who rises from the ashes is unrecognizable.” End of Part 7
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 commentsAquila, This is turning into another masterpiece! Trip pled his case, “Honey, the way I see it, we have the physical side of our relationship aced. We’re like hounds in heat, you and I. What we need to work on are the intangibles – like trust, communication and the feelings we refuse to acknowledge. So let’s start with trust. Trust that I will listen with an open mind. Trust that my feelings for you run too deep to be erased by a little illogic. Trust ME, T’Pol.” You hit the nail on the head with this statement! Where do I start with the praises? You gave us two examples of why this relationship is so great. The restraint on Trip's part and the acceptance on T'Pol's are amazing. They each recognize truths in their burgeoning relationship which can only make it stronger and long-lasting. Trip pled his case, “Honey, the way I see it, we have the physical side of our relationship aced. We’re like hounds in heat, you and I. What we need to work on are the intangibles – like trust, communication and the feelings we refuse to acknowledge. So let’s start with trust. Trust that I will listen with an open mind. Trust that my feelings for you run too deep to be erased by a little illogic. Trust ME, T’Pol.” and “They are like your legendary Phoenix, consuming me. The woman who rises from the ashes is unrecognizable.” Absolutely the gospel truth. Great chapter, great lines! “They are like your legendary Phoenix, consuming me. The woman who rises from the ashes is unrecognizable.” WOW! Wow...the interactions between these two characters is positively hypnotic. The way you've drawn us in, makes me feel like I'm eavesdropping on a conversation that is meant to be very private. I like the way you've chosen to have this play out in the dark. Everything can seem very frightening in the dark, there's always uncertainty...especially when revealing ones secets. Waiting for you next installment. I'm rather humbled by the kind words, especially since that last line should have read - They are like the flames that engulfed your legendary Pheonix, consuming me...etc. Thanks for not pointing that out! Aquila Aquila, I didn't notice anything. I think the way it read was fine. Besides, I was too drawn into the story at that point to care. That's the mark of a great story, in my opinion. Good job. This is absolutely the most SENSUOUS thing I've ever read! Wow! :) Ummmmm... what they said! Since they pretty much said everything I was thinking... well okay I'll just say this one thing. You made my heart pound! And that is NOT an easy thing to do! Believe me... you'd be surprised! So... great job and please give us more! I don't think there's a person here who'd disagree with that! What's left to say...I second all the comments made so far. Thanks for sharing your story. I don't think I can manage coherent praises so I'll just bow down before you...wonderful! This is superb, very profesionally written & prepared, got to agree about the darkness part, it really does add to the atmospheric feel of the tale, it actually feels like you're there listening to the two of them do their stuff! bloody frellin' excellent. that final line... wow. correct incorrect... it works wonderfully. The Clan Reed ;-) love it. |