Vulcan for 'Boo!' - Act II

Vulcan For ‘Boo’

By John O.

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: See Part I

Act II

Scene I – Corridor

If Zephram Cochrane had a grave wherever his lost ship ended up, he was rolling in it. Aboard the pride and joy of Starfleet and the crowning achievement of the Warp 5 Project: Malcolm Reed straightened and re-straightened his nanopolymer fangs while his partner in crime, Trip Tucker, admired his blood-splattered overalls.

“I’m tellin’ you Mal, stop messin’ with it, it looks fine,” Trip groaned as they made their way down B-deck.

“Phwox, swaid dey’d fwit,” he mumbled through the plastic fangs. Trip glared across the bands of his ski mask as they turned a corner and entered the corridor which led directly to the cargo bay. Malcolm’s cape bounced behind him as the pair walked, nodding at grinning crewmen still on duty as they passed by. More than a few female crewmen took the off-duty opportunity to give Commander Tucker quite a thorough once-over, smiling congenially.

“Commander,” Ensign Thompson cooed as she passed by, thoroughly enjoying his mussed hair and intentionally sloppy appearance. Trip nearly whistled as he and Malcolm stopped in unison to watch her slink away, hips in a purposeful dance that nearly made Malcolm choke. Trip met his exasperated expression with a fourteen-year old smile.

“You disgust me,” Malcolm retorted with jealousy, eliciting a loud chuckle from the Chief Engineer.

The normally drab, gray corridors were filled with Halloween decorations and costumed crewmen. Up and down the corridors leading to the cargo bay, black and orange streamers flared across the ceiling and exaggerated recordings of terrifying howls and screeches played from hidden speakers. Hoshi had really gone all out. While Lieutenant Reed tried to “correctly” situate his fake teeth, Trip grinned boyishly with his fingers flung between the straps of his overalls.

“I still don’t see why you wore overalls, I don’t remember Jason looking like an Appalachian,” the Englishman muttered, finally making sense with his teeth in the right place.

“Eh! Mah great granddad’s parents were coal miners in West Virginia!” his drawl becoming increasingly predominant. His frown twisted into a small grin.

“ ‘Sides, least they weren’t limey sea dogs,” he laughed as Malcolm lunged for his neck, model fangs bared as he made a strange hissing sound.

“What are ya’, a cat or a vampire?” Trip laughed as he jokingly leapt back.

“It’s scarier, Malcolm! Adds a crazy, blood-thirsty-hill-billy factor to the equation,” he grinned at Malcolm’s smirk as he shook his head. Malcolm’s eyes drew together in confusion.

“You know,” Malcolm squinted in contemplation. “If you ever get into warp theory I think that should be the title of your first paper,” he smirked as Trip stopped in his tracks and lunged playfully after the tactical officer. The pair went careening down the corridor, nearly flooring a very stolid-looking Lieutenant Cain. Apparently she wasn’t enjoying the party, Trip thought as Malcolm gave in and he tackled him to the floor. When their teenage hijinks drew to a close, they lifted themselves and continued on.

“Why did you insist on making us late by showering? Carrying the stink of Engineering with you should make it all the more authentic, hadn’t it??” Malcolm laughed as Trip took a mock swing at him.

“Nah, didn’t wanna smell as bad as you look,” he laughed. But he thought of T’Pol rather than his own hygienic pride, he didn’t want to offend her senses tonight... if she came. He wondered if there would be music… slow music?

“Wonder what Hoshi’s wearing,” Malcolm muttered with an active imagination. Tucker shook his head as he spared a curious glance the Brit’s way.

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Scene II – The Party

Some crewmen made or had their own costumes but the ship’s Quartermaster had been inundated for the past week with numerous requests for costumes. While in public the tactical officer was easy to please and far from picky – he had turned out to be the Quartermaster’s worst nightmare when it came to detail.

From head to toe the Brit donned an authentic 18th century black cloak, black tux with blood-red inner lining and pale face makeup with his nearly-black hair slicked into a sleek globe. Next to Malcolm, Commander Tucker’s tattered denim overalls were covered in blood and paint stains (the latter Malcolm suspected were already present). Underneath he wore a jet black tee-shirt that hugged his lean shape a little closer than it had to. It didn’t have much to do with his costume, but somewhere in the back of Tucker’s mind, an optimistic part of him hoped the cute Lieutenant he bumped into the other day just might like it. A moment later he considered another woman who was supposed to be present… She don’t even notice that kinda’ thing, probably silly to even…

His thoughts were interrupted as Malcolm keyed the entry and the music, lights and even fog machine – Oh god, Tucker thought – fog, I hate fog…

Nightmares of school dances gone past were soon dispelled, however. Near the far wall he spied Hoshi waving conspicuously, as did Malcolm who nodded. The excitable Ms. Sato, dressed rather sparingly, waved the boys over before turning to a friend. Standing rather rigidly next to Hoshi was a short young woman Trip knew in a moment he had to meet. As he crossed the party, Malcolm followed but Trip had all but forgotten about his poor friend. Forgetting Malcolm entirely, Trip searched the floor for his jaw as the amazing body before him grew closer.

From a distance the shiny-tipped “devil” horns the girl wore stuck out from her short brown hair, but Tucker was too floored by the rest of her to note any resemblance. A few steps closer and his eyes followed a sharp red pair of stockings as they climbed the length of her calves… until they were hidden by a medium length red silken skirt. As he got within a dozen paces, a very well defined torso came into view as she turned slightly to his direction. Covering her abdomen was a thin satin-like material, perfect red and tightly hugging the Subcommander’s rigid curves, softly curling up her beautiful trunk to reveal…

The Subcommander?! The Subcommander...!

Trip stopped like a brick wall hit him, pinned under her even and expressionless stare. Hoshi turned her head to hide the grin splitting her ear to ear. The Commander was speechless for several seconds while T’Pol, also silent, slowly played her forefinger across a glass of tea. At least he was looking into her eyes, but they too were different than Tucker had ever seen before. Her eyes didn’t land immediately on his however, taking very explicit and tedious note of his Halloween attire.

“Commander.”

“Subcommander,” Trip returned blandly. Hoshi came to their dire rescue.

“Well!” she clapped her hands nervously, trying to rip Tucker’s unmoving gaze from T’Pol’s, or hers from his. It failed.

She cleared her throat quite obviously.

“Hoshi,” Malcolm stepped closer. “I see you isolated the cargo bay’s comm. system to play music. Does the Engineering team know about it,” Malcolm hinted, trying to get Trip’s attention. It worked, the engineer finally turned his attention on Hoshi and T’Pol turned hers to the approaching blue-uniformed Captain. She fidgeted nervously when the Captain caught sight of her a few paces away and stopped in surprise. The Subcommander pretended not to notice Archer’s appraisal.

“She cleared it with the Cap’n all right,” Trip turned to greet the only uniformed person in the room.

“Comin’ to join the party?” Trip teased. Jonathan avoided looking at T’Pol for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“I’m afraid some of us have to keep working while the rest of you enjoy yourselves,” he laughed as he surveyed the room, inspecting the various costumes.

“Well the rotation we setup sure seems to work,” Trip nodded as the Captain agreed.

“Hoshi, you really outdid yourself,” he muttered as he met the Ensign’s gaze while Trip and Malcolm nodded in agreement. Hoshi blushed, absently looking about the party as if she had not decorated nearly every inch of it herself, or instructed others in so-doing.

Archer squinted in confusion as the music got louder, and the music changed tempo. His mouth moved silently, only T’Pol’s acute ears picking up his words.

“What?” Hoshi nearly had to scream back at him as the music got even louder.

“I said what is it you are supposed to be?” Trip was already inspecting the central area of the party where several crewmembers started dancing. Hoshi had put Ensign Mitchell in charge of the music, unfortunately for T’Pol’s sensitive hearing he was partial to retro 22nd century techno.

“I said, an Amazon!” Malcolm turned to nudge Trip on the shoulder and suddenly realized he felt like he was back at his ninth grade dance. Turning to his friend, Malcolm realized he had disappeared onto the dance floor – leaving him an uneasy wallflower. He decided he would keep close to Hoshi, maybe if he was standing next to a beautiful woman in skin-tight green leggings with a spear and an arrow through her hair – he would look like part of the party.

“What?!” Archer yelled again. Hoshi leaned inches from his ear, drawing Malcolm’s attention even though only T’Pol could hear the repetition.

“I said, do you still dance, Captain?” Hoshi repeated. Suddenly Malcolm became aware she was rhythmically gyrating with the beat of the music which had accelerated considerably. The movements drew the Comm. officer into… unprofessional closeness with the Captain, as T’Pol observed.

Jon laughed back but could barely be heard, even with his mouth inches from Hoshi’s ear.

“Not to this!” she laughed back as he shook his head ruefully. But if I were a few years younger… Archer thought as he glanced down at the scarce garment covering the young, Asian comm. officer. He smiled, nodding something inaudible to Hoshi and Malcolm before turning to leave. He shot another surprised look at T’Pol as he left, just not sure what to make of that. The Subcommander noticed neither the Captain’s departure, nor his passing expression. Before he left, he followed T’Pol’s absent gaze as it ignored him and found it led him to Commander Tucker, cutting an obnoxiously crude rug with a pair of attractive young women. A blonde ensign and dark brunette lieutenant were grinding against the Commander’s body under the flickering spotlights while coils of misty fog hung about their feet. If ever a Vulcan appeared murderous since the days of Surak, T’Pol was managing a fair imitation as she observed the making of a ‘Tucker sandwich’ minus the jelly… and even that may have only been a matter of time.

The Subcommander started when Hoshi finally got her attention.

“Why don’t you just go ask him?” Hoshi nearly screamed against the roar of the music. Her eyes jerked suddenly to the Comm. officer.

“Excuse me, Ensign?” The Subcommander returned, hoping the use of her rank would sufficiently alarm Sato from pursuing the intended implication. It had no effect and Hoshi repressed the desire to roll her eyes.

“You’ve been watching the Commander since he got here, you might as well go up and ask him to dance.” The Subcommander took a short breath, resuming a rigid posture, hoping to appear more professional in the chaotic human environment.

“I am merely concerned that the Commander’s behavior is hardly appropriate for a senior officer among subordinates.” She couldn’t help the edge that slid into her voice as she turned back to find Tucker laughing with the two women now that the music had slowed.

“They’re just having a good time Subcommander,” Hoshi added innocently, gesturing towards the dance floor…. From which a tall engineer was fast approaching.

“As you should be doing…”

“I think I need some punch!” Malcolm yelped as Hoshi grabbed him by the arm and jerked him fast away. In that split second the Subcommander found herself alone and confused – then just confused, as a familiar scent soon captured her attention. She turned to meet him before he spoke.

“Havin’ fun Subcommander?” he asked with a sigh as he wiped his sweaty brow, a genuine smile tugging at his face. He was mildly surprised she showed up, and outright astonished that she had the guts to wear the ensemble that had every male in the room gnawing at the bit.

“You were fraternizing with subordinates, I believe it is inappropriate for a senior officer to show such… affection for junior officers, even among humans.”

“Affection? Jen, Ashley and I were just havin’ fun; it didn’t mean nothin’,” he moved to the nearby table to reclaim his punch. She did not respond but followed, catching herself biting her lip in... what was it, jealousy?

He turned to watch her approach him. Her walk, her stance, her expression were all as cold and precise as if she were at a diplomatic conference. She started slightly when he leaned in only inches from her ear, his breath warming the edges as he whispered.

“Ya’ know it’s mighty damn hard to take ya’ seriously when you’re wearin’ ‘at,” his accent rolling effortlessly into commission. She desperately tried to resist the tremble rumbling down her spine as his breath tickled across her ear. The illogical drawl of his voice, the warmth of his skin as it drew across her cheek for only an instant, she hoped he hadn’t noticed her shivering.

Commander Tucker is an illogical human, it is foolish to desire him.

She regarded him severely after he pulled away, but he walked away to refill his glass. She secretly wished he would have seen the feigned look of disgust she managed with difficulty to hide her arousal…

He returned, noting she wore a sharper expression than was her custom if she was in a good mood (as good a mood as a Vulcan can be found in). But the Commander like any other, simply assumed T’Pol wasn’t exactly comfortable in a chaotic party. Dressed to kill, no less… he again took explicit note of.

He set the cup down in resignation, as if he had finally arrived at a decision. Giving her a contemplative look, he threw his hands into the chest pockets of his overalls and asked: “You wanna’ dance, Subcommander?” He managed a wry smirk as T’Pol absorbed the offer. She blinked absently, not responding at first. The invitation was only half-sincere since he didn’t believe she would even consider it. He judged that by the time she was taking to formulate a response she must have actually been thinking about it!

Finally, she tilted her head and turned slightly away from his glance.

“It would not be appropriate, Vulcans do not dance in public and only for ceremonial purposes,” her jaw tightened and he nodded slightly. He began to turn away.

“However.” He stopped. Her eyes wandered momentarily in thought.

Commander Tucker is an illogical human… His tongue rolled along the inside of his cheek and he grew impatient.

“In this case, it may facilitate a better understanding of human culture,” an eyebrow lifted methodically.

“…Which is an objective of my mission on Enterprise, ” Trip’s smile widened. He noisily moved a chair out of the way that lie between them and held out his arm in an exaggerated fashion. T’Pol looked down in confusion.

“Take it,” he motioned at his arm. She slowly slid her fingers about his forearm, suddenly aware that this was the first non-professional contact her fingers enjoyed… enjoyed?! She chastised herself and would certainly examine this feeling in later meditation. Yes, must examine this later, she told herself.

But for now, Tucker was already tugging her to the center of the floor and she was becoming increasingly nervous. In her moment of weakness she had forgotten this would be in front of everyone. When he stopped and turned to her, he almost thought he saw fright in her eyes.

“I will require instruction,” she spoke softly, her voice slightly shaking. The smirk disappeared and he smiled warmly, guiding her hands to his shoulders.

“Like this.”

“This music is slower,” she responded quietly. Trip nodded, for a moment, he almost thought her voice had become lower, even sultry…

He moved his hands to her waist, watching as she innocently followed each of his movements with her eyes. He chuckled as she did so, with the innocent eyes of someone who wasn’t sure what he was doing but studied nonetheless, she curiously watched his every move.

“Ok, now move your feet like this, follow me,” he instructed as her eyes remained glued to his feet. More than a few curious and amused stares had developed around the cargo bay, and there was a noticeable lull in the ambient noise.

He was sure she would have enough of this archaic human custom of “far too much touching” at any moment. But as the song kept on playing, each moment he still found T’Pol’s hands upon his shoulders.

“Ok, now let your feet do the work, look up at me,” she obeyed silently.

“This is a very complex set of variables,” he chuckled and she glared at him for a moment. He didn’t move to apologize, somehow he new he didn’t have to – as his smile lingered for several moments afterward, she forgot her feet. Her glare turned into a look, the look into a gaze, and the gaze into a stare. For the shortest moment, T’Pol forgot where she was, before suddenly averting her eyes and pursing her lips in embarrassment. He looked away but when he felt her fingers tighten slightly on his neck, he looked back at her inquiringly. She refused to meet his eyes, she wouldn’t… she couldn’t! But she could not coax her fingers to release him either…

Commander Tucker is an illogical human, it is foolish to desire him.

But they were hollow words now, and her fingers acted of their own volition, ignoring her Vulcan mind, her logical center. They slinked behind his neck and gripped his flesh into her palms, the warm embrace of the Vulcan’s skin tingling all down his spine.

Is this really T’Pol? His brain asked, but nobody responded. He took her hint (or what he hoped was a hint), cautiously pulling her tighter about the waist. This time she chanced a look upward at the Commander as he drew her closer. He met those chocolate orbs with gentle curiosity. Not wanting to force her into anything, he drew back a step – but she held him in place. Damn they are stronger... he thought absently of her race. But a moment later he had forgotten all about it when he looked down to find the Subcomamnder’s face now rested only a few inches from his chin, being nearly a whole head shorter. Her arms were around his neck and her torso had come to rest almost against his.

She was rapidly submitting to the illogical desires stirring inside her. Still, desperately she was clinging to the last part of her Vulcan mind that screamed this was foolish and ill-advised. But her human’s scent was too powerful, the comfort of his hands on her hips too alluring, too pleasant to heed the logical voice that faded away. Her nostrils flared inches from his chest, her body intensely aroused but also a deeper pleasantry stirred inside her. There was a comfort here, being held – yes, ‘held’- she thought. Held by this human, she found a place nearly as tranquil as meditative silence and yet there was something else to it. Before she could analyze this pleasant component of being held by her human friend, he nudged her about the waist. She looked up to find him grinning warmly.

“Song’s over,” he whispered. His voice was different, professional detachment departed, an inch of longing crept into his whisper. She didn’t move, neither did their eyes. He blinked and his fingers began to move, prying themselves from her bared hips through the gaps of her crimson colored costume. She almost ached as she realized he was drawing them away, but an instant later she disposed of the illogical yearning nearly as quickly as it overtook her.

But his hands didn’t withdraw, and as she quickly unclasped her hands from his neck he brought a pair of fingers toward her face. She started momentarily, and he withdrew. Ah what the hell, Tucker thought, and he gave in to the temptation to touch her.

His middle and forefinger grazed the Vulcan’s warm, olive colored cheek in one single, surprising motion. For an instant she relished it, yearning for an instant for a lifetime of that touch.

Suddenly, she realized it was Commander Tucker for whom she felt this, and she withdrew quickly and suddenly. She turned haphazardly for the nearest exit, leaving a stunned and confused Tucker standing by with more than a few prying eyes. She carelessly trampled over a poor crewman dressed as Davy Crocket before hastily making for the door. Hoshi watched in shock from the corner where Malcolm was showing off his fangs to the beta shift tactical personnel.

Tucker took two steps for the door, sighed, and threw his hands on his hips in defeat.

T’Pol moved through the corridors towards her quarters, nearly at a nervous run. She must meditate, must meditate on this… All her years of Vulcan training exempt her from knowing the pain of loneliness, from even conceiving of the emotion associated with it. Yet the moment she pulled his touch from hers, she was all too aware of it.

She had held, if only for a moment, that which in absence harkens loneliness and a tiny voice worried that she would never find peace without it again.

-fin-

Note: If T’Pol’s costume seems a little out of her style…well… on one hand I would tell you that it was offered (and insisted upon) by Hoshi “offscreen”, and on another I would say TOUGH, because it was fun. :)

Return to Act I

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

This was very cute and entertaining - although I believe Jason wore a hockey mask!

Excellent. I loved how you portrayed Trip and T'pol arkwardness towards each other. I hope you do a sequel to this. Thank you.

Well done, the imagery was perfect! Still trying to figure out what Trip was supposed to be, though! ;)

Cute halloween story..I hope you continue expanding it.

Hey thanx guys - Trip was supposed to be Jason, Malcolm mentioned it once when he said, "I don't recall Jason looking like an Appalachian..." etc etc.

Yeah jgc I think I just forgot there was a difference when I was writing and "ski mask" came out instead of "hockey mask"...oh well, they look similar don't they? lol i don't play hockey! or ski! ;)

I've been considering a sequel... some of the ladies want an NC-17 sequel... we'll see.

ANY sort of sequel, PLEEEEEZE! That was too good to end there!
On one hand, I want Trip to go chasing after her. But on the other, I want you to stretch out the angst even more! Can you do BOTH?
LOVE your work, John! Please, keep it up!

MARVELOUS, John. The sexual tension! The angst! Yummy.

Great Job Good Buddy.
Loved the tension,,,,,,, an the visual imiage of Pollys costume,,, Just,,,, Well I think I might need a cold shower now.,,,, Great Job.

Gorgeous story! A sequel around R and more would be very much appreciated. ;-)))

Oh, I did like that. The dance was a mixture of sweet and hot. Thumbs up.

That was a fun story! You do a very fine job with unresolved sexual tension and showing the "slow burn" these two have together. I personally wouldn't mind a sequel to resolve some of that sexual tension. Great job!

Well done John! :-D

And the next part will be posted....when??

Mmmmm...the image of Polly in that outfit...mmmm...Good job, John. Looking forward to more from you...

ohhh I love it! The devil was perfect;> the dance writing excuisite thaknks but isn't there more?

Sequel! Sequel! It's too fun an idea not to have one. Great UST! :)

great i want more please.....

Loved the whole dance scene, everyone shouting over the music and not hearing each other, leaning close to be heard. Very atmospheric. Loved Trip 'n T'Pol the "slow burn" as someone said. Laughed out loud at: "“Phwox, swaid dey’d fwit,” he mumbled through the plastic fangs." When I was reading, I copied that so I could say it was the best line. But it's no longer the best line. The farther I went the better it got! Enjoyed the multiple points of view.

Very nice John O. Cute and sexy.

I love this story! PLEASE right a sequel! PLEASE!

Oh yeah, you really know how to make us screaming for more! *gg*
That was really cute - and sexy as hell. *hint* LOL