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The First

Author - Sue | F | Main Story | Rating - PG-13 | T
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The First

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: It had to have begun somewhere...
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Romance
SPOILERs: Precious Cargo, Strange New World, Oasis, Broken Bow
ARCHIVE: Yep, that's fine.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Paramount and its entities do. I'm making no profit whatsoever.

==========

The First


Soaked to the bone, T'Pol made a few more notations with the PADD. The only light to read by was the flickerings coming from the small fire the Chief Engineer had built. The illumination was a marvel in and of itself. The
pulpy wood and modest amount of kindling he had used to start it had been saturated with rain coming from the downpours that hadn't abated
since they had landed on this wooded planetoid.

The Commander hunkered down closer to the fire. He stared into it for several moments then looked up and away from the smoky blaze to take in the shapely Science Officer, the looker who outranked him.

Her short, boyish style was plastered to her scalp. As drenched as it was, her skintight outfit was a second skin. "If you're chilly, the best place for you to be is right over here." He stretched his palms toward the warmth and splayed his fingers. Playfully, the flickering light lent animation to the serious look on his face. Upon the walls of the barren cavern hieroglyphics, smudged by shadows and age, inspired by the fire danced.
"Plenty of room."

Not looking away from the instrument, T'Pol replied in a dry tone, "I am not wet. I am all right."

"The hell you ain't, and the hell you are," Tucker said through an affectation of a snort. He smiled when he saw her shiver for the third time. He tried not to smirk but it wasn't easy not to. "You're soaked." He was bare-chested, hadn't put a tank top on underneath. All of his tops were dirty. He began rubbing his hands together. It was good he had an ample supply of clean shorts for modesty's sake. "Lordie. We searched for this place in the drivin' rain for over two hours. Ya can't stand there tellin' me you're drip-dry."

T'Pol continued with her extrapolative surveys. She seemed oblivious to her fellow team player's feeble attempt to distract her from taking vital readings. Just one of many for instances like how long before they could communicate with Enterprise.

"If you're hopin' for a lock, darlin', don't hold your breath. They won't get a fix for quite a spell. Not till it lets up."

The magnetic storm they'd run into that had disabled the shuttlepod, throwing them into a low, distorted orbit was showing no signs of let-up just yet. As things stood, there was no way of telling when they'd be able to re-establish
contact with the ship.

And yes, then there were these monsoonal rains that had unleashed themselves from what had seemed as though out of nowhere. Visibility had been lost rapidly which was why their landing had been a crash. Shuttlepod Two was lying in a heap of near-ruin, its roof having been sheared off by something massive.

T'Pol had never seen the like of such pounding, punishing water, dumping from a dark malevolent sky. The water still whipped and clawed at the cavern's tight entrance.

She glanced away from the PADD long enough to verify what assailed her ears. The wind was howling, what sounded literally. "All frequencies have been neutralized by--"

"Yep." His smirk cut through the crackling dimness. "Electromagnetism. Figures." He sighed. "Looks like we've got some time to kill." Trip,
keeping his voice upbeat asked, "Ya hungry?"

"Electromagstatic dampening fields. There is somewhat of a qualitative difference."

"Tomata, tomatah..." The Commander's eyes glinted quietly in the glimmery shroud of darkness. "So? Hungry?"

Still unwilling to concede him the cool caress of her eyes, T'Pol kept them glued to the PADD which she had set on conserve. "No," she said, using the wooden tone that she had down pat.

"Ya sure about that?" He fished around in his burnt-rust satchel, a souvenir from a survival training course, until he produced some items sheathed in metallic foil. "I had Chef make us some sandwiches. Mine's roast beef. Yours is cucumber with a dash of light Italian for some flavorin'."

He was impossibly unpredictable...and sometimes he utterly amazed her with his thoughtfulness. Especially when she never saw it coming.

"Lettuce?" T'Pol inquired with a slow-mo raise of her right eyebrow. She had a growing liking for the combination. She began lowering the PADD.

Trying not to let her see that he knew he had her, Trip replied, "Why don'tcha come and find out?"

Hearing how slyly he'd put that, she held off.

"Do I look like I'm gonna bite?" he bantered.

==You try biting me, Commander, and I will bite right back, but in all likelihood you would like that. I'm sure you used that line of specious
reasoning with...== She refused to finish that disjointed thought. Already she could count on both hands and one foot his various and sundry peccadillos when the subject was females.

In most recent memory, seeing him and the sultry First Monarch of the Sovereign Dynasty of Krios Prime stripped down to their bare essentials
clouded her cognition. Taking her time about it, she moseyed over; hands behind her back with wrists crossed.

She thought his upper musculature looked more defined since seeing him shirtless in the Decon that very first time.

"Which one is mine?"

"Wanna share? The rock, I mean."

"The ground will do fine." She went to take the sandwich out of his hand after fitting the PADD into its utility pouch. She tried taking the provision. He didn't hand it off.

"Why get dirty...uh, dirtier?" He hitched way over on the flat-faced rock doubling as a chair; one butt cheek off, one on. "No crowdin'. See?"
The look on her face registered dubious. Shrugging, he surrendered her sandwich, expecting her to take her place on the dank earthen floor. Not making a big deal, she sat down next to him and began unwrapping her sandwich. "Dig in..." He did with gusto.

Hungry? She was more than that. She had eaten nothing since lunch the day before. She had forgone dinner, having decided to immerse herself in deep meditation that had lasted for hours.

Before taking a bite, she shivered, what seemed to Trip, violently. He eased away from her, concerned. As the food entered her mouth and she
bit down, she trembled. Her teeth chattered in- between chews, which made swallowing difficult.

"Here," Trip offered, "get closer to the fire." She complied, but her trembling didn't wane. She bit off more of her sandwich, which was delicious she generally realized...shivering on. "Uh... T'Pol..." He directed his gaze to the comfort of the radiating fire. "Could I make a tiny suggestion?"

"What is the suggestion, Commander?"

He pursed his lips powerfully, knowing how it would probably sound; how it would sound to any woman, decent or otherwise. "Get out of that wet thing..."

That was the highest he'd ever seen her raise that lofty eyebrow of hers. "Commander?" she arched.

"It ain't what you think."

"What do I think?" she inveighed, challenge filtering through as an undercurrent.

"I'm not making an indecent proposal. It's only logical. You keep that soakin' suit on and you'll catch your death. You're shakin' like a leaf as it is." Noting he had her ear, he concluded, "Your clothes'll dry a whole lot quicker directly near
the fire. And your skin will too once you're shy of the soggy duds. Logical, right?" He held out his hand. "Hold your sandwich?"

T'Pol studied the ladies' man's face, and saw no sign of his having an ulterior motive, as far as she could tell. Terran men...what was the Chief Engineer really asking? She couldn't decide whether or not she was satisfied, or strangely, the opposite.

Did he find her attractive? As attractive as Liana? Her royal Highness, Kaitanna? The female engineer who got him pregnant? Why should it matter whether he did or didn't? Her reaction to him in decontamination, surrounded as they'd been, by the electric-blue glow of sterilization, was
still disturbing. That had been a long while ago, but she was still going through withdrawal.

Why was disciplined thought a chore when she was this close to him?

She handed him her sandwich, and in the same sweep of movement, she began undoing the stays of her snug outfit. With nimble finger exercise, she methodically peeled the sodden material off her damp skin. Trip tried not to stare as more and more of her body was exposed to his unfaltering eyes.

She caught him staring. Both their sandwiches dipped lower and lower with it going unnoticed by the wide-eyed man, but she dismissed his lapse. T'Pol let her waterlogged jumpsuit pool at her slim ankles, then stepped out of the heap. Kneeling, she picked up the garment and spread it out next to the fire.

As gorgeous as ever, Trip silently praised, quietly appreciative of her nubile form clothed only in a low-cut white tank top and light blue shorts that rode high on her honed thighs. The articles of attire were similar to what she'd worn in the Decon where he'd had his hands all over her beautiful body. For purely practical reasons.

He waited for her to get settled again before re-offering the sandwich.

When she shivered, he wished he had something thick and blanketing to cover her with. He decided to offer the next best thing...himself. He shifted nearer to her.

"Commander?" She halted taking another bite of her food.

"Two bodies close together generate more heat than just one, all by its lonesome." Their bare thighs were touching. She found the soft blond fuzziness of his leg curious. Most Vulcan men weren't as hairy. His equally downy right arm pressed in against her left. "I know how much you hate this much close contact, but for the sake of your not comin' down with somethin', nasty. How about it?"

"I will allow it," T'Pol murmured her consent.

He smiled boyishly into her bemused looking face. Once he was limned up against her, the same muddled sensation of ambiguous feelings resurfaced.

"I'll warm ya up..."

==Will you?== T'Pol placed her coolish hand on the top of his hard thigh. "Your skin is as moist as mine, yet you are much warmer."

"I'm one hot-blooded son-of-a-hon. Funny you've never noticed till now, Sub-Commander."

She trembled again, but this time the retreating chill in the air wasn't the direct cause. The sandwich in the hand holding it shook a little.

"Or, have ya?" he quirked.

She thought it wiser to act as though he hadn't made that remark. Waves of heat were rolling off him. Between him and the fire, which was blistering at full blaze, the coldness that stubbornly clung to her would be driven out. The fire was elemental, no mystery regarding its purpose. The reactionary man sitting beside her, whose warm hand had closed over hers that rested upon his thigh, was utterly baffling.

They finished up their sandwiches, not talking to each other. T'Pol wished there was water. Her thirst was painful in her throat. Trip had finished eating first, so when he saw the Vulcan sluggishly run her tongue over her bottom lip he smiled a little. Aside from the swipe causing him to focus sensual attention on her puffy 'enticers,' it forced his hand to the satchel.

His hand seized upon the ovoid canteen encased in a khakhi sleeve, and he plucked it out. "Thirsty?"

T'Pol regarded his uncanniness cannily. "Yes." She watched him unscrew the cap, use the satchel to wipe off the mouth and neck of the canteen, then handed it to her. Before taking it, she asked, "What about you, Commander?"

"Ladies first." His smile was generous and its luster was reflective of how glad he was having thought to bring the liquid rations just in case they faced a matter of life and survival.

She drank her full, which didn't seem like much at all to Trip, then handed the canteen to him. He raised it in a toast to her, saying, "Here's to your health." He drank until a trickle of water streamed from the corner of his mouth. He lowered the canteen and wiped the wetness off with the back of his hand. "Man, that hit the spot." He noticed how intently T'Pol was looking at him. "What?"

"Could I have more water?"

"Sure thing." He reached for the satchel so he could wipe off where his mouth had touched the water holder.

"That isn't necessary," T'Pol censured.

"Oh? Okay. Whatever you say." He foisted the canteen into her nearest hand. "Help y'self."

Both of her hands wrapped around the canteen. Tilting her head back, she slaked her burning thirst, mindful that drinking to the dregs wasn't wise. Conservation was the course of wisdom.

"G'head. Finish it."

"No. Drinking it all would not be prudent."

"Ya got a point." Trip shrugged, and while doing so, he saw her drop her head forward with eyes closed. "Once the storm lets up though, I'm sure water won't be too hard to find in this dense rain forest."

"Perhaps..." She lolled her head from side to side until raising a hand to her neck to perform some self-massage. The performance was slipshod at best. She wished for the trained hands of a Vulcan physiotherapist. She squeezed her hand against the bunched neck muscles, wincing a tad when she hit a sensitive pressure point.

"Sore?"

"Hmmmm..."

"We got bumped up pretty good when settin' down."

If she were in her bunk, kneading the stress out of her neck, greater relief might have been hers. Back within the Sanctum sanctorum of her quarters where meditation would also serve to allay the tightness in her soul.

Trip decided to speak up instead of regretting what he'd term a missed opportunity later. "Help ya with that, maybe?"

She stopped her auto-ministrations, but did not straighten up. "How would you help?"

He always got a kick out of her countering his questions with one of her own; one that was more direct but equally challenging. "Sorta like this..." He cinched his hands about her waist, lifting her up from the slab of granite. Feeling the heft of her body go with his uplift without any breath of protest from T'Pol was gratifying for reasons he wasn't quite sure he understood.

He scooted farther back on the rock, spreading his legs wide and making room for her as he eased her down in-between them. "You're in good hands, Sub-Commander. I gave my momma the best massages a son's love could buy." His hands fastened on the rotater cuffs of her shoulders. Firmly, with practiced care, he worked her shoulders back towards him until they both heard a quiet crack come from some joints or others.

"Commander...I...don't..."

"Hush, now. Let ol' Trip Tucker fix ya up. I'll have ya loose as a goose."

"Geese are not loose. They have shorter necks than swans, and a shorter more pointed bill than a duck."

"Okay, Miss Naturalist. You get the idea." His hands flowed to her neck and worked their magic, insistently. "Now, relax. Okay?" She did as she was bidden, allowing her misgivings about having his hands so heavily upon her to be replaced by the relief and, yes, comfort they brought. He rolled the middle joints of his fingers over the protruding bones of her spine, clearly seen in her neck, and gradually her stiffness was chased away. Strange how he could sense the tension draining from her. "Better, huh?"

She nodded, lost in the balm of his silky, inexorable touch. "Y-yes, Comm...ander." His mother had raised a true healer. "Much. You are truly an anodyne." She heard him chuckle, and even that was comforting to her.

"Now don't go gettin' all grateful on me," he teased, stepping up the steady kneading of her shoulders then back up to her neck. To his gaping surprise, she edged herself back until her behind was wedged firmly against his crotch. Either she wasn't aware of her racy little action, or she was, having decided to make him go a little nuts.

Nuts...yes; for a blood surging away from his brain to stream for parts farther south, certainty. His stiffening barometer that she was nestled against wouldn't unplump just because he was willing it to.

"Uh...T'--T'Pol co-could ya e-ease off a b-bit?"

"Is there something wrong?" the Vulcan mumbled, mired in the relaxation.

"If I m-move back any more...I'll fall on my ass." He waited, and she went a little forward. Finger on the trigger, he thought, smirking at the clumsy analogy. "Tha-thanks."

T'Pol hitched around to graze his face with a qualifying look. Unwittingly, her eyes fell lower, and insightfully she contemplated the unsightly bulge in the Chief Engineer's shorts. For a second time, she marveled. In Decon having been the first. Subtlety was not his forte along these lines as well. "Mister Tucker..."

"I know...ya don't haveta tell me. Sorry. It's not somethin' I can control on command." 'Specially when I'm around you in this much state of undress, he internally rationalized. He watched in muddled fascination as she raised her hand, with fingers arched toward his face, figuring that the sting of her slap would take care of the erectile Mr. Tucker.

==I will know his thoughts. I will touch his mind. I will know him better...and myself. I will do nothing more than evaluate.==

Yet, before T'Pol could affix the pads of her fingers to the critical sites of his face, Trip mistook her wanting to touch him for giving him the green light. Caught off guard, she watched him grasp her hand, flip it over, bringing it to his mouth in the process.

He pressed the underside of her wrist to his mouth. Against it he murmured, "You do it to me every time. What can I say?" He thought he might have deserved that slap when he saw the staring Vulcan's lower lip quiver. Overcome by his feelings for her, he creeped his plush lips past the crook of her elbow, trailing nippy kisses each smooch of the way.

T'Pol was too torn to speak, too thrown off balance to stop him. Engulfed in the moment, she felt her heartbeats quicken. Secretly, she wondered if she wanted him doing this for far too long. The acting out, the fillers of her Tuckercentric dreams, would be redefined. Intent on where he wanted his trailblazing to end was burning with intensity in his gamboling eyes.

It was he who moved into her closer, repositioning his crotch back into striking range. When his face was a hairsbreadth from hers, he halted his advance, trying to read so many things into her unreadable look. "T'Pol..."

"Commander," she said submissively, and she saw his eyebrow lift for a change; not what he was expecting.

"I... I..."

Her tongue massaged first her bottom lip, then the upper. T'Pol puffed a breath of breath against his one-of-a-kind nose, and before she could inhale, softly, his lips, with the tenderest of care, introduced themselves to hers. With his eyeballs fluttering beneath his eyelids, somewhere in his mind's eye he gauged her wary reaction.

Clinically, she observed him with eyes wide open.

Under some very gentle coaxing, after his tongue nuzzled her lower lip, negotiating to be granted admittance, her lips parted. His tongue got comfy, cozying up to hers. His 'appreciator' exchanged long, slow strokes with her hesitant 'explorer.'

As uncomplicatedly as the kiss' beginning had begun, he broke it off just as simply. T'Pol's face did not budge. She willed his to stop retreating. She wanted their first to be followed up by a second, exactly like its predecessor.

He pursed his lips, unsure exactly why a feeling of embarrassment was washing over him. T'Pol twined her hands behind his neck, halting his unwanted withdrawal.

"That was okay?" he prefaced, sounding shy; starkly so. His real life reaction was falling far short of his fanciful preoccupations of what their first kiss would be like. Something told him this was more than fickle infatuation. The feelings he'd had at that silly school dance, way, way back when, where'd he'd been so lame about asking that pretty gal to dance, revisited.

"Our labile contact...most curious," she observed with a cryptic clip in her tone.

"Somethin' you might like tryin' again, T'Pol?" He'd said her name as though uttering a prayer. "Say yes," he beseeched plaintively. "Please say yes." Delving into the not so distant past, he seemed to vaguely recall the last time they'd been in a cave together. Rehashing the bits and snatches he could remember, he had wanted to kill her. Split her in two. His hallucinating mind had robustiously accused that she was the enemy.

What a far cry from now. She was the enigma he wanted surrendering to him because she was wonderful. Of course, he'd sort of always expected she was, only after working up enough nerve to find out. She was neither aloof nor cold as he had often misjudged.

"Affirmative, Mister Tucker..."

His little boy grin swallowed his face whole. He still wasn't over her letting him go as far as he'd gone. By any stretch of an overactive imagination, was she marginally attracted to him? If so, the sleeper of a revelation was a headline; front page, bold type...like in the old days.

Was that why she was reluctant about returning to
her people? It could partially explain a lot of whys, he thought, toying with her bouts of hesitancy over quitting the mission.

"You may touch my lips with your lips," she beckoned, having kept up her minimalist effort to stop him from pulling back. "...Again."

There were so many things he needed to say to her, loads of feelings spanning months and months. Feeling as though some dam had burst, he wanted as much as possible out in the open. Uncharacteristically, his brain was stuck in neutral.

"T'Pol..." His nose was less than an inch from hers.

"Touch yours to mine," she entreated, which ended in a breathy sigh; a sigh he yearned to hear her make again. "I wish it..."

"Anythin' ya want, darlin'," Tucker said which sounded very much to T'Pol like a moan. His lips were near enough to already taste hers. Wispily, with eyes closed, just as T'Pol had followed his lead by closing hers this time, he breathed against her mouth, "Your wish is my comman--"

"Hhmmmph... Uh...ummm...Trip? T'Pol?" Haltingly, Archer's voice sallied forth to continue, "Did we come at a bad time? *Again*?"

The discovered couple froze. The identical thought flashed in their minds simultaneously...'If ever there was a stellar case of bad timing *this* was the super nova; it being dismally *bad*.

"We were able to lock onto the emitter's signal with the transporter back on-line." So was this what their spending a great deal more time together had culminated in, Archer jumed to conclude.

Trip dropped his head with a look of clear frustration. Both of his hands though held on to T'Pol's, with no sign of giving them up soon.
He beamed a look, a cross between 'okay ya caught us' and 'damn that transporter being brought back on line,' to the fire that had begun to peter out. Damn that atom-scatterer to hell!'

Like the ever alluded to deer caught in the headlights, T'Pol would have given the unfortunate woodland creature a run for its salt lick.

"I see you two are making out just fine," Archer jibed. The fact of that matter was he was just as floored as the on-pins-and-needles pair, not to mention Malcolm Reed, standing alongside him, gawking with mouth agape. The lieutenant still nursed unrequited hopes of one day working up enough courage to ask the pretty, 'bumluscious' Vulcan to lunch. The Chief Engineer was just about to help himself, to bloody T'Pol! The keeper of the Armory groused with his phase pistol unsettlingly at the ready.

Trip looked from T'Pol, to Archer, briefly to Reed, and back to T'Pol. Milking his drawl for all its Southern worth, he parlayed, "No, Cap'n. Shoo..." He had a fleeting impression of his shooing flies away from a picnic table. T'Pol eased her hands from Trip's grasp, rose from the rock and went to don her clothes. Whether they were still wet or not, she would cover up, and quickly.

Trip watched her for a moment longer than it made Reed and Archer feel comfortable watching. Quickly, she re-clothed herself with the dignity she wore like an invisible cloak.

With a trace of irritable regret in his voice, Tucker faced back to the two and said with a simpering glance, "The timin's just perfect, sir... Yeah, just."


**************

End

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

PART two!!!!!....write more!!!....please :)

Great!! Fantastic !! More please oh yeah!

Oh! Sue, thankyou, this was gorgeous and sooo sexy! Think I should have read it with a cold towel on my head! Love the way Trip calls T'pol'Darlin' too, can hear him say it in my head. More please!

Great! Definally need more. Please, write a sequal.

please can we have some more..

and it was just so funny at the end.
:)

Oh, that was great. I really enjoyed it.

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

That was so sensual!!! And, very well written, almost poetic. I like how you kept them in character, especially Trip. I also like how you ended it with them getting 'caught'. Very funny.

I would love to see more... especially what happens next once they get back to Enterprise.

Thank you!!!

Yeah, leave it to Malcolm and Archer to interrupt. Great story! Love wet, trapped and nekkid stories!!

I really enjoyed this though there was a moment when T'Pol was wishing for water and Trip fished out that flask that made me think of those guys whose cars just happen to break down in the middle of nowhere so they can spend some one on one time with the girl of their dreams. So. Did they really *need* rescuing...? I think I must be the only one who wanted to swear when Archer and Reed interrupted them. Oh yeah, we have got to have a sequel! Loved it. Ali D :~)

Way to get them together "cute"!

Very funny and sexy. T'Pol asking for more kisses was priceless. You do have a way with describing kisses!

Thanks!

that was incredible! please write more!

that was sooo yummy......hmmmmm......mmmmm.....where was i? oh yeah, great story - but please, can i have some more? lol

Awesome! Yo it's been a year! Where is the rest!

Well, I must admit, I wrote this with stand alone leanings. I'm really throwing myself into the "Mood Swing" saga, (Up to part 10 thus far). I invite you to take a gander at it, if you're so inclined.

*Gasp* Can't...breathe...too...funny! That was hil-AIR-ious! Please, Sue, I want some more!

"I see you two are making out just fine." I think my neighbors heard me laughing about this one!!!