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Sub-Commander T'Pol gave a small involuntary gasp, then looked up quickly from the viewer of her scanner to see if anyone on the Bridge had noticed. Most of the senior staff was absent at this late hour and she was the scheduled watch officer. The Captain was on duty, but he was currently working in his Ready Room. Junior officers were manning the ship's critical stations. And, fortunately, none had witnessed her lapse in discipline.
Breathing deeply, T'Pol closed her eyes and attempted to focus...to once again to regain control of her body. But even as she did so, she knew it was a futile gesture. T'Pol felt as if the very blood in her veins was burning—a carnal fire that had been simmering for hours and was now threatening to overcome her last measure of reserve. Phlox had given her a hypospray loaded a new formulation of hormones that was designed to bolster her control while on duty. It was supposed to help her avoid just this very predicament. And most of the time it worked, as it had been earlier this night. Worked, that is, until Commander Tucker had visited the Bridge to deliver his systems upgrade report to the Captain.
To his credit, Charles had done his best to maintain decorum, favoring her only with a quick grin and a wink before disappearing into the Ready Room. But she had trembled in the wake of his passing, as his unique scent hit her full force. T'Pol's already refined olfactory sense was greatly heightened in this stage of her Pon Frell, and the scent of her mate so near had quickly erased any good the hypospray had done.
She had tried so hard to focus on her work, lasting nearly an hour after the Commander had finally left the Bridge. Her t'hyla. Ashyam. And the human term she was beginning to savor...husband. But now, she realized that she could no longer fulfill her responsibilities. The very thought of her lover sent sparks coursing through T'Pol's consciousness. Her need was already taking her. She could feel her breathing quickening, her pulse racing. And so there was only one thing left to be done. As she activated the com and paged the Ready Room, T'Pol felt her hand shaking. Thankfully, the reply was immediate.
"Archer here. Go ahead, Sub-Commander."
"Permission to leave the Bridge, Captain."
There was a brief pause. T'Pol knew it would take a moment for the Captain to realize what her request meant. She had only been forced to make it a few times, but he had always been understanding.
"Of — of course. Hang on...what time is it?" The Vulcan was about to reply when the Captain answered his own question. "I didn't realize how late it was. It's already 21:30 hours. You've only got half an hour left before your shift ends anyway, T'Pol. Consider yourself officially off duty as of now."
The Vulcan breathed a quiet sigh. "Thank you, Captain."
"Not at all. I'll see you at breakfast, Sub-Commander."
With that, he closed the channel. Wasting no time, T'Pol powered down the Science station and turned to the young woman who was manning the Helm.
"Ensign Graham, you have the Bridge."
Graham smiled in surprise. "Aye, sir. Good night, Sub-Command—"
But the turbolift doors had already closed behind the Vulcan. And as she rode silently down to E Deck, T'Pol began to come undone. The fever burned through her body, building in its intensity like a storm. The pulsing of her heart, in her side, became a countdown to the inevitable. And, at last, her reserve fell away in the wake of one overpowering and elemental need.
Find him...
At that particular moment, the object of T'Pol's desire was rapidly working his way through a bowl of pasta salad in the Mess Hall, as Malcolm studied his recommendations for upgrading the targeting scanners. Hoshi and Travis sat at the table as well, sharing a large sundae.
After long and silent deliberation, Malcolm looked up at the engineer skeptically. "These new active EM filters will require almost double the power of the ones we use now. Are you certain the Captain will approve this?"
"Already did," Trip mumbled around his food. "Took it to him an hour ago and he signed off right on the spot. Think he's tried of us getting' our asses kicked all the time."
"Well, that certainly makes two of us."
"And I'm sick of repairin' all the damage." Trip waved at the diagram spread across the table with one hand as he shoveled in another mouthful of food with the other. "Thus, the better kung fu."
Hoshi laughed at them. "You two and your toys. Just make sure none of these upgrades screw up my com circuits. I've only just gotten them back into calibration again after all the changes the Vulcans made."
Trip glanced over at her absently. "Don't worry. I'll have the boys back at Spacedock tune 'em up to spec. You'll be happy to know that we're due for a new subspace receiver array. In a couple a weeks, you'll be able to hear a pin drop in the Delta Quadrant."
"I'll be happy just to be able to hear Starfleet when they call, thanks." She watched, amused, as he continued eating furiously. Finally, she could hold her tongue no longer. "Have you, like, not eaten for a month?"
Travis glanced over at Trip and smiled. "You're taking in plenty of carbs there, Commander. The only time I ever ate like that on the Horizon was right before a big space walk." There was a hint of mirth in his eyes as he added, "Or something like that."
"Just trying to keep up my strength."
"Uh-huh." Travis smiled knowingly at Hoshi as their spoons dueled over a bit of fudge. Hoshi giggled and Trip looked over at her suspiciously.
"What?"
Hoshi just shook her head. "Nothing, Commander." Then she noticed that Trip was eying their dessert. "Oh, no you don't. Get your own, sir."
"Think maybe I..."
As his voice trailed off, Travis and Hoshi looked up. They were surprised to see Sub-Commander T'Pol standing next to the engineer. Hoshi noticed that the Vulcan appeared to be glowing. The tips of her ears were darkening and there was a sheen of perspiration on her brow. She had just barely brushed her arm against Trip's shoulder...but the Commander's reaction was instant. He seemed to be struggling to concentrate, his food forgotten.
"Commander Tucker," T'Pol spoke softly...and just a hair too calmly. "The Captain has asked me to clarify a number of items in your upgrade plan."
She locked eyes with Trip for a moment and, to Hoshi's reckoning at least, it seemed as if a bolt of electricity passed between the two. Suddenly, Trip could barely sit still.
"Uh...yeah. Sure. Let's, uh...let's go do that." He fumbled with his bowl, almost dropping it before setting it carefully on the table and backing away. Then he grabbed the Vulcan's hand and led her hurriedly out of the Mess Hall, as Hoshi and Travis watch in stunned silence.
Malcolm, meanwhile, was still studying the diagram. "Commander, I wonder if it wouldn't better to route the extra power through—" Finally, he looked up...just in time to see the doors closing behind the two senior officers. "Bloody hell!" He turned to Hoshi in dismay. "What's gotten into him?"
The Ensign merely shrugged in response. If you only knew, Mal, she thought silently.
The Tactical Officer finally gave a disgusted snort, rolled up the diagram and got up from the table. "I'll tell you this...if T'Pol wasn't a Vulcan, I'd swear those two were shagging." Then he left too...not noticing that Travis had suddenly begun choking around a mouthful of ice cream.
When he was able to clear his throat and look up, he saw that Hoshi was watching him intently, a funny little half-smile on her face. Travis glanced away shyly, felt his blood heading south fast...and then looked back and gave her a funny little half-smile in return...
Doctor Phlox exited Sickbay purposefully, his stomach rumbling impatiently. His eclectic assortment of flora and fauna had all been fed, and had finally settled down for the night. Now it was time to take care of his own nutritional needs. So, after activating a little indicator near the door that would let people know he was temporarily away from Sickbay, Phlox pointed his nose in the direction of the Mess Hall and let his feet follow.
He was just rounding the last intersection in the corridor, when he nearly collided with Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol, who were hurrying in the opposite direction.
"Ah...Commander Tucker. I wanted to ask you about the upgrades for my medical equipment. I was thinking of—"
"Not now, Doc," Trip called out as the pair half-ran past the Denobulan. "I'll have to get back to ya!"
They quickly disappeared down the corridor, toward the senior officer's quarters, and it was only then that Phlox realized they'd been holding hands. An impossibly wide grin spread across his face as he turned and continued toward the Mess Hall.
Ah, the impatience of new love, the Doctor thought in amusement. Must be something in the air.
He was still pondering the subject of intra-species mating rituals moments later, when he glanced up...and happened to see Ensigns Sato and Mayweather exiting the Mess. Hoshi led the Helm Officer quickly into the nearest turbolift and then the doors closed behind them, the lift slipping up to D Deck. They, too, had been holding hands. Phlox recalled that D Deck was were the junior officers quarters were located.
With another bemused grin, Phlox took out a small scanner and began checking the atmosphere...just in case.
Back in his Ready Room, Captain Archer signed his approval on the last of the upgrade reports, and breathed a heavy sigh. Then he reached down to scratch his dog behind the ears—the beagle had lately become fond of sleeping at his feet under the desk.
"This time tomorrow, we'll be breathing fresh mountain air. What do you think of that, Porthos?"
The dog merely yawned at him and went back to sleep. Archer laughed quietly and then turned to open a small cabinet nearby. Inside was the last of his private stash of Kentucky bourbon, which he slowly poured into a shot glass. I've been hitting this stuff way too hard lately, he thought ruefully as he downed the drink. Still, excessive or not, the alcohol helped him to relax, and tonight was no exception. Slowly, he began to unwind, letting his mind reflect on recent events.
They'd all been through so much in the last few months. There was the destruction of the Paraagan colony, their encounter with the Suliban, the devastating skirmish with the Andorian pirates, the month-long process of rebuilding the Enterprise, first with the help of the Vulcans and then in separate layovers at the Mars Complex and Jupiter Station. Most recently, they'd finished a quick, two week shakedown cruise, to make sure the repairs had been completed successfully. And now, they were headed home. To Earth. The Enterprise was set to receive some final, hastily-scheduled upgrades of key systems, before the starship headed back into deep space for another tour of duty. They'd also be taking on the last of their crew replacements, many of them cadets fresh out of the Academy. But even more importantly, the Enterprise's veteran crew was about to enjoy a well deserved shore leave. Two full weeks of rest and recreation. It was certainly overdue.
The mood on the ship had become decidedly charged in anticipation of the time off. There was an edginess that lingered in the air. The signs of it were everywhere. Use of the ship's gym had skyrocketed in recent days. Dinnertime had become a full-on social event, which thrilled Chef to no end, and they'd had to add a second showing on movie night to accommodate everyone who wanted to attend. More interestingly, Phlox's latest weekly report had noted a sharp increase in requests for contraceptives among the crew.
Not that Archer disapproved. Sex on board the Enterprise was a sort of gray area in terms of regulations. Given their long mission duration, Starfleet had known it would be best to allow him a certain degree of flexibility in dealing with that issue. Relationships between officers and sub-ordinates were prohibited, certainly, but as long as sex didn't get in the way of the performance of duty, Archer was willing to stay out of his people's personal lives. And he could hardly reprimand his crew for engaging in sexual relationships when his own First and Second Officers were so obviously...indulging. They'd done their best to be discrete, but the two rarely spent more than a few hours apart when off duty. And his Chief Engineer was constantly running on the edge of exhaustion, between servicing the ship's needs...and those of a female Vulcan in heat. Word tended to travel fast on a starship.
The Captain was still adjusting to the idea of his two most senior officers as a couple. For the first few days after the...incident...in Sickbay, he'd struggled with a major bout of jealousy. Archer had long secretly harbored an attraction to his First Officer. Not that he'd ever have dared to act on such feelings, of course, or even thought that a Human/Vulcan relationship might be possible. But when T'Pol had chosen Trip over himself...well, that had stung him at first.
Still, Archer had to admit, T'Pol's selection had been the logical one. It was some consolation to know that the two were truly in love, and not merely accommodating the needs of Pon Frell. Vulcans mated for life, and he knew from private conversation just how seriously Trip took that commitment. He'd never seen his best friend so centered. So sure of things. And there were subtle changes in T'Pol's behavior as well. She'd lately seemed to become more...open was the best way to describe it...to her fellow crewmates. She joined in their conversations more. She participated in social activities more often than she had before.
No doubt about it—Trip and T'Pol were an unlikely couple. And yet, somehow, they managed to bring out the best in each other. Even during the Enterprise's very first mission, the two had found unexpected common ground. Of course, their second mission had been a different story altogether...
Archer looked up in surprise as the doors to the Bridge flew open, and his Chief Engineer and Science Officer burst into his Ready Room unannounced. The look on Trip's face spoke volumes.
"Captain, will ya please tell this damn Vulcan to keep her hands off my ship?!"
T'Pol was undaunted. "Calm yourself, Commander. The Enterprise is hardly your ship."
Trip looked at his friend in exasperation. "You see what I have to deal with?"
"Slow down, both of you. What exactly is the problem?"
"Our new Science Officer here told Lieutenant Burke to reduce power to the forward sensors. I've been trying all week to figure out what was wrong with the navigational deflector. And now I'm gonna have to replace it! I'll take my people all night!"
Archer's concern was immediate. "The deflector's down? T'Pol?"
"I merely corrected an oversight on the Commander's part. If he was as familiar with the ship's operational specs as he claims to be, he'd realize that running the forward sensor array at one-hundred twelve percent of rated power reduces the operational lifetime of its components by a factor of—"
"And if the Sub-Commander were familiar with Starfleet procedures, she'd realize that running the forward sensor array at a hundred-twelve percent means that we can run the navigational deflector at only eighty percent power without reducing its efficiency. We carry nearly a dozen backup sensor components in ship's stores. But we only have two spare deflector assemblies. Just one, now that her meddling's burned out the one we were using."
The Captain looked to his Science Officer for confirmation. She merely raised an eyebrow slightly, and folded her hands behind her back. "It appears that I may have...erred in my decision, Captain. I was unaware of the secondary concerns with regard to Starfleet components."
Trip was quick to take offense. "Starfleet components? What are you tryin' ta say, Sub-Commander? That Starfleet components are inferior to Vulcan ones?"
"I would have thought that was obvious."
"Why you little bitc—"
"That's enough! Both of you!" Archer stepped between them quickly, before things got out of hand. "In the future, T'Pol, if you have concerns about Engineering matters, you'll consult Commander Tucker or myself before taking action."
"Of course, Captain."
"Damn right," Trip scowled at her under his breath.
"I have admitted my mistake, Commander. I would expect that you would not to continue place your own ego ahead of what is best for the ship." With that, the Vulcan turned and exited the Ready Room, the doors hissing shut behind her. And Trip could hold his temper no longer, raising his voice so that she could her him even through the closed doors.
"What's best for this ship is if I flushed you out a Goddamn airlock!"
"Trip! One more outburst like that and I'll confine you to quarters! What the hell has gotten into you lately?"
The engineer deflated immediately, as if someone had let the air out of a balloon. He collapsed into the seat opposite the Captain.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's just...it's like she's goin' out of her way to drive me crazy! I swear she's doin' it on purpose!"
Archer glared at his friend as he sat back down in his own chair. "That goes both ways, Trip, and you know it. I practically had to beg the Vulcans to let her stay here, and you're doing your best to drive her away. You're skating on very thin ice right now."
Trip grinned sheepishly. "Maybe you should ask T'Pol back in here. Thicken it right up for you."
Despite his anger, Archer had to fight mightily to keep from smiling at that. And, as Tucker knew it would, the Captain's irritation melted away. He finally just shook his head, and decided that as long as his Chief Engineer was here, he might as well broach a difficult subject.
"Speaking of T'Pol...there's something I wanted to talk to you about. Our stock with the High Command would go up quite a bit if I could make some kind of goodwill gesture." He hesitated. "I know how much you were looking forward to that First Officer position..."
Trip rolled his eyes and wagged a thumb at the door. "Give it to her."
Archer couldn't contain his surprise. "What?"
"Look...you and I both know that I accepted this assignment for one reason."
"Because I asked you to?"
"Okay, so there's two reasons. But the other one was to be able to get my hands on Starfleet's first Warp Five engine. I don't give a rat's ass about command! Makin' life and death decisions all the time...gettin' buried in paperwork...all those fancy dinners in the Captain's Mess..."
"Get used to having dinner in the Captain's Mess. I'm making it a daily thing."
"Tell Chef he'd better start learnin' to cook Cajun food then."
"Done. Still...you're a full Commander. The First Officer's job ought to be yours."
"But as T'Pol was quick remind us all while you were incapacitated, she outranks me."
Archer glanced at him dubiously. "That's a stretch and you know it. Starfleet hasn't decided where Sub-Commander fits into our chain of command. It's a technicality at best."
"She's still the best choice."
"How so?"
"Come on, Captain! She's got more experience in deep space than you and I combined. She's smart. And she's already proven that she can help us out here."
"She's got your respect?"
"Yeah...I guess she does. She still needs to earn the respect of the crew, but I think that's a good challenge for her. Maybe it'll keep her outta my hair."
"I wouldn't count on it. I don't understand, Trip. A minute ago you came in here raving like a lunatic about her, and now you're singing her praises. You sure about this?"
"I don't have to like T'Pol to admit that she's a good officer. Besides, seems to me it solves a lot of your problems."
"You're a good man, Charlie Brown."
"Yeah? Well, I'm gonna remind you of that the next time that pointy-eared pain in the ass messes with my ship."
The Captain gave him a stern look.
"Okay...your ship. But I'm still gonna remind you 'bout it..."
Archer was brought back to reality by Porthos' insistent pawing of his leg. Glancing at the chronometer, he realized that it was well past the beagle's usual dinnertime. The dog's sleepiness had obviously given way to hunger.
With another heavy sigh, the Captain pushed back from his desk and stood, switching off his monitor in the process. Porthos circled his legs excitedly and Archer smiled at him.
"All right...I get the message. Let's go."
With that, the pair exited the Ready Room and traversed the short corridor that lead to the Bridge.
There was no doubt about it. Trip and T'Pol were an unlikely couple. But they never ceased to surprise him. He wondered briefly what they were up to at that moment. Then he quickly chased that thought out of his mind.
Best not to go there...
In the quiet darkness of her quarters, T'Pol was humming softly with pleasure. The Vulcan was struck by the spectrum of variety in the sensations of intercourse...of orgasm. She'd experienced release four-hundred and twenty-two times since her bonding with Charles. Each was unique. Some were slow and momentous. Others were blinding and out of control. This one was going to be...fiery. Fierce. She could hear her lover's mirthful laughter in her mind...knew, even though her eyes were closed, that he was smiling. She felt his love suffuse her consciousness, and her nipples tightened deliciously in response.
Inevitably, T'Pol began to vocalize her pleasure as her lover rocked against the rolling cradle of her hips, stroking long and deep into her center. Each thrust inside her was a lifetime of bliss, each withdraw an agony as she clung to him with mounting desperation. It was extraordinary, this...feeling. He was her best friend, her confidant, her council. Her life mate, her lover. He was her everything. Ashyam, she heard in her mind. Yes, she sent back to him. Always that.
She was so close! Though she would never say it aloud, T'Pol secretly rejoiced in the opportunity to let go of her tight emotional control during their lovemaking, even if only for a few moments. He knew this, of course, and was determined to make her lose control as often and as intensely as possible.
T'Pol was nearly there...very nearly...very. And then her heart skipped a beat. There!
A ragged cry was forced from her lips as the contractions shuddered forcefully through her small frame. Her soul was sent reeling under the onslaught of sensations magnified by their empathic connection. Her lover rejoiced in her pleasure...savored it...drew it out as long as possible. And then, just when she finally began to recover her senses, she realized that he was still driving into her...growing harder...impossibly so...stroking in exactly the right place.
That's when the second climax took her, with breathtaking force. As good as the first was...the second was impossibly stronger. T'Pol knew it was coming...it always did...and she both feared and loved it at the same time. She felt never more helpless, and more feminine, than she did in that moment after the first orgasm crashed through her, the strength of it merely foreshadowing the devastating pleasure that was sure to follow. And with that second climax came the additional rush of blissful sensation that she savored...the strong pulsing so deep within as he released inside her...his agonized cry of pleasure...the hot gush that followed...the searing wetness filling her...seeping around their clinging flesh...spilling over.
The sound of her keening filled his ears...a sweet song of love that he adored. Tears of joy mixed with perspiration. A shy smile graced her lips before her control returned enough to hide it. Her dark eyes sparkled, even after it had. His soft, happy laughter...out loud this time...filled the cabin.
Had there ever been a life for her without this man? Had she ever truly lived before him?
As they lay entwined in her sheets, recovering their...just recovering...T'Pol marveled at her connection with this Human. Having consummated the physical bond, their telepathic connection was deepening. She was constantly surprised by the degree to which he was able to participate. Humans were not considered to be particularly telepathic, but Charles was very responsive. His capacity to control and regulate her passions seemed limitless. More important to T'Pol, though, was his respect of her...his ability to know when to push her past her boundaries and when to honor them. She loved him for it.
Why did her people so distrust feelings such as these? Were all emotions fit only to be shut away, never to be experienced? As expected, her rational self was quick to supply an answer to these questions. It was a matter of simple logic. Emotions, she knew, were a vast spectrum. It was not possible to indulge in the positive ones, without also becoming susceptible to the negative. Emotion was a dangerous incline that lead inevitably to the death of reason and...
Don't think, she chided herself. Just be. And so she was.
After what seemed like forever, she spoke softly in her lover's ear. "We have dampened the covers again."
His voice was gravelly and languid. "I'll take the wet spot. I don't mind."
Charles began to withdraw from her, but instead she held him tightly...held him inside. "Stay," she whispered in the darkness.
"Mmmm'kay," he replied contentedly. And so he did.
T'Pol caressed her lover's neck tenderly as he slowly succumbed to unconsciousness, stroking her fingers through hair damp with exertion. Charles worked so hard to please her...to keep up with her. He was in the best shape of his life as a result. All the more reason to love him.
Soon, the Vulcan closed her eyes as well...and joined him in sleep.
It was an overpowering sensation of arousal that first stirred Trip to consciousness. He lay still as his senses came slowly back online after slumbering. He heard the low, reassuring rumble of the warp reactor in the distance, and the equally comforting sound of steady, even breathing beside him. Something deliciously warm and soft was wedged against his body, enveloped in his arms, and knew it was T'Pol. She was laying on her side, as was he, and she had pressed back against him in sleep, their legs entangled, with her head cradled into his shoulder. The smell of her sex...their sex...permeated the cabin, and fueled his arousal. She smelled of pennies—he knew it was the copper in her blood—but also of something lightly sweet...and darkly exotic. He breathed deeply of the mingling aromas, savoring them.
Trip felt incredibly peaceful, but not rested. Some part of his mind knew that he hadn't been sleeping very long. Probably just a few hours. He idly wondered what time it was, but he found that he wasn't curious enough to actually open his eyes and look. Both he and T'Pol were off duty until later that morning, when Enterprise was scheduled to arrive back at Earth, so what did he care about time now? Besides, his knew with every fiber of his being that his lover was ready again...ready to join with him...to mate. For some reason, the words he'd once used to describe the act of intercourse simply weren't sufficient for what they had together: fucking, making love, having sex. This was incredibly more powerful that those words could convey...more all encompassing. More spiritual and emotional.
So many Humans mistakenly thought that Vulcans had no emotions. If only they knew the truth! Vulcans felt things with an intensity that was almost beyond his description. That was why they worked so hard to suppress their feelings or at least to mask them. But now that they were inseparably connected, T'Pol shared everything with him. He was almost taken aback by how talkative she was. She told him her thoughts on the ship's efficiency and ways to improve it, her scientific research and theories, her concerns about her interaction with other members of the crew, her analysis of the flavor of various food items he encouraged her to sample. She shared it all with him, either aloud or through their telepathic bond. It was extraordinary the change in her. Every time he looked at T'Pol, it seemed, Trip discovered something new. And yet, he'd always known that this side existed within her. She was blossoming. Everything about his lover...my wife, he reminded himself with a smile...was extraordinary to him.
He loved the way she would sit lightly on the edge of a chair, rather than sinking into it the way he did. The way she would endlessly analyze a problem until she solved it, or at least understood that she could not solve it with the information at hand. The way she looked at him over diner in the Captain's Mess, tilting her head just so, her dark eyes glittering liquidly just for him. The attentiveness with which she listened to what he had to say. The way she sometimes became shy when she was experiencing the full force of her love for him. He delighted in all of it. He delighted in her.
As he lay musing over these things, his lover suddenly sighed beside him. T'Pol was still asleep, he knew, but already her need was flooding his consciousness. It wouldn't be long before her body began responding to it. So he began gently sliding his hands over her simmering skin, savoring the softness...the feel of her breasts, her nipples stroking sweetly against his palms. And he poured his love for her back into her mind. All at once, he felt her come alive in his arms, just as he knew she would. It was almost as if she were a child's toy and he'd just wound her up. She gasped softly, still half-asleep, and her ass pushed back into his groin instinctively. The full flavor of her soul exploded into his mind, sufficing his thoughts with those of her feverish love and need. Her head turned back toward him as their lips came together in the darkness. She felt so tiny pressed against him like this—seemed so fragile. But he knew very well that she was anything but fragile. She fit perfectly against him...moved perfectly against him. And she moved perfectly now. With a tiny arching of her back, T'Pol angled her backside up against his now painful erection...and took him deeply inside of her.
And then there was little room for conscious thought as physical and emotional imperatives took over. Their minds became one, joining even more profoundly than their bodies had. Their movements became synchronized and subtle...grinding, driving...building perfectly into a cascading symphony of mutual pleasure. She rolled slightly onto her belly and pushed her hips up and back against him frantically, overcome by her need to take him in as deeply as possible. To be filled with him. He responded in kind, moving with her, over her...into her. With each slow stroke, the tip of his cock was kissed lightly by the entrance to her womb and the subtle pressure of it drove him insane—drove them both insane, for she could feel it too, through their bond. And it was exactly that sensation—that simultaneous awareness of what the other person was feeling at that moment—that would ever be their undoing. He felt himself moving into her, sliding through her clinging flesh...through her. She felt herself quivering, her muscles clamping down on him hotly, slickly...through him. And then, at exactly the same instant, their climaxes unraveled powerfully, each multiplying the other's exponentially. The Universe fell away from them, then, and they existed only for this timeless moment...for this purpose...for this love.
As the doors to her destination slid open before her, the air was filled with the sounds of exercise equipment in steady operation. It was only 05:00 hours, but the Enterprise's Gym was already bustling with activity, as crewmen let off steam through their individual workouts. The chamber wasn't yet packed, but it was likely to be soon enough. And so Hoshi strode purposefully to the row of treadmills, found an unoccupied one, and took her place on it. Laying her towel over the control pad, and setting her water bottle in the cradle designed to accommodate it, the Com Officer quickly selected a rigorous, hour-long program and set it in motion.
Had anyone taken the time to examine Ensign Sato's features, as her lithe body began to run in place on the rolling track, they might have noticed a particular look of satisfaction. Of amusement. But then, no one did take the time. No one, that is, but a certain Helm Officer who entered the Gym a few minutes after her.
Ensign Mayweather could barely keep the grin off his face as he calmly selected the treadmill beside hers and started his own running program. Soon, when he too was up to speed, their pace began to synchronize. It was only then that Travis looked over at Hoshi with eyes that smiled mirthfully.
"Morning, Ensign. Sleep well?"
Her eyes sparkled in return. "Never better. And you?"
"Terrible. My best friend kept hogging the bunk."
"Hey!"
Hoshi threw her towel at him then, and Travis laughed, not even bothering to hide his growing feelings for her. Soon her laughter rang out lightly in the air as well. But as the sound of their amusement blended with the din of the equipment, no one around them was the wiser for it.
Trip worked his muscles strenuously as he stroked into the oncoming torrent of water. The powerful jets of the hydromill washed over him, and he had to struggle mightily to keep his place in the current as he continued his forward crawl. This was his preferred form of meditation, allowing his mind to let go of everything save for the constant drum beat of the stroke.
One, two, three...breathe...one, two, three...breathe. On and on it continued.
The pool was almost absurdly small—only about three meters wide and about double that in length—but with the constantly recycling current, it was more than sufficient for an Olympic-caliber workout. It was the first such pool to be installed on an Earth ship. The chance of the gravity plating failing had always prevented any kind of swimming facility from being used in space by Starfleet before. But with their long mission duration, it was decided to include one on the Enterprise, with adequate precautions taken to ensure that no water escaped in an emergency. The room was accordingly small, and could only be accessed by a water-tight airlock. Oxygen masks were installed around the room in the event that sudden zero-G filled the air with liquid, making it impossible to breathe.
Granted the pool wasn't the same as the ocean, but it would do in a pinch. Trip certainly put it to good use, as did the Captain and several other crewmen. He'd always loved swimming. He'd spent many lazy summers down at his grandparents' house on the Florida Gulf Coast when he was young. Trip had practically grown up in the water, having learned how to scuba dive even before he learned how to drive a car. He put that experience to good use during his college years, participating in a project to reclaim the ocean floor in parts of the Atlantic, living in underwater communities for months at a time. Because of all this, his later recruitment by Starfleet, and his eventual transition to the environment of space, had been a natural one for him. After all, a pressure suit was a pressure suit. Deep ocean or vacuum, it was all the same to him. And this way...he got to play with warp engines.
Over the years, Trip had found that he had a natural ability and adaptability in life. And so he'd tried a little bit of everything, before finally settling on Starship Engineering. He'd taken to it immediately...and quickly discovered that he loved it. Before long, he excelled in the discipline, quickly rising to the top of his class at the Academy. He'd made such a splash, in fact, that he'd been asked by Captain Jefferies to join his team working on the NX Test Program. And it was there that he'd first met Jonathan Archer, then a Commander and test pilot for the program.
As he was musing over the strange and interesting course of his life, Trip heard the sound of the airlock cycling and paused, reaching over for the pool controls to switch off the current momentarily. It was then that the person who represented the latest twist his life had taken appeared. T'Pol walked into the small room, clearly looking for him. She was wearing a small white robe, which she quickly removed and hung next to his own. Underneath, was something of a surprise...a simple one-piece bathing suit. The sleek material wasn't particularly interesting in its style or color, but it was exceptional in that she was wearing it. It afforded Trip yet another new view of his mate. T'Pol, in swimwear, was simply beautiful. And so he told her as much.
"T'Pol, you look...amazing."
The Vulcan's cheeks flushed. It was an emotional reaction for which she chided herself, but she was pleased at his reaction nonetheless. "You have been swimming for some time," she observed.
"I hope you don't mind...you were still asleep when I woke up, so I figured I'd exercise my other muscles for a change." Trip smiled, continuing. "I didn't know you used the hyrdomill."
"I have studied the relevant procedural texts, but I have never actually attempted the activity."
"You mean you were stationed for three years on a planet that's seventy percent water and you never learned how to swim?"
"Seventy-point-nine percent," she corrected. "Vulcan has no oceans and only a few small seas. Learning to swim is not a high priority among my people. In any case, swimming on Earth was considered unsanitary."
"I don't understand. How can it be unsanitary?"
"To immerse oneself in the same fluid in which countless billions of lifeforms are born, eat, excrete, die and decompose is far from hygienic."
He laughed easily. "I suppose you're right. But this water's nice and clean. You want to try it?"
She clearly did. T'Pol was more adventurous that he ever expected. "It's excellent aerobic exercise. And...I have always wanted to learn. Will you teach me?"
"Sure," he replied warmly. "Come on in."
He held out his hand to help her into the pool. It was unnecessary, of course, but she was appreciated the gesture. It was charming. And very much a part of his personality. So T'Pol placed her hand in his and allowed him to lower her gently into the water beside him. The hydromill was deeper than she expected, nearly coming up to her chin when she stood on the bottom. Her eyes widened for a moment in surprise and he moved closer as a precaution.
"You all right?" She nodded shyly and he caressed her cheek. "Will you be okay if I touch you? As much as I'd love to, it probably wouldn't be good if we ended up...you know...and someone walked in."
She ran her fingers down his chest. "I will be fine. But...I wish you to know that I...love you."
Trip took her in his arms and held her tightly, rendered speechless by her declaration. He kissed the top of her head, and she gave a hint of a smile.
"However, if you continue to hold me in this manner, I cannot be responsible for my actions."
He released her, still smiling. "Sorry, darlin'. I love you too. Very much." They exchanged a tender glance. "Okay...why don't you show me what ya got."
He reached over and activated the jets, adjusting the current to allow her to swim, but not be overwhelmed. A look of concentration crossed her face and then she leaned forward into the rushing water, attempting the forward crawl he had been doing so effortlessly when she entered. For a few moments she seemed to find the correct rhythm...
...and then she sunk like a stone. Her rhythm was quickly lost as her limbs flailed out reflexively.
"Whoa!" Trip reached down into the water and lifted her back to the surface. She gasped for air. "Just hang on to me for a moment."
T'Pol clung to him as she caught her breath, and Trip chuckled in spite of himself. "Guess I'll have to fix you up a pair of water wings."
She glanced at him puzzled and he quickly changed the subject, knowing that he'd pay for the remark later when she looked up the reference. She always looked up the reference.
"Never mind. You've gotta get your legs involved too, okay? Let's start with a backstroke. Are you—?"
"I am familiar with it."
"Good. Lean back and I'll support your weight."
She complied and moments later, her arms were stroking efficiently into the current, her feet flutter-kicking behind her. When Trip was satisfied that she was comfortable, he spoke.
"Can I ask what brought all this on? The swimming thing, I mean?"
"Your mother said that you planned to go scuba diving during your visit home. I was...hoping I might be proficient enough by that time to join you."
He became exited. "Are you kidding? I'd love to take you diving, T'Pol! There's this place down in the Caymans where the water's so clear that—" Suddenly, his expression changed. "Wait a minute...you contacted my mother?"
She became concerned. "Of course. After bonding, it's customary for the female to acquaint herself with her mate's mother." She stopped swimming and sat up in the water, clinging to him tentatively. "Have I made a mistake?"
"No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting it." He laughed nervously. "I'll bet Mom flipped out when she got your letter."
"Is that...an acceptable response?"
"That all depends. How did she react to you?"
"She seemed surprised at first, but we have exchanged several productive messages. Your mother seems quite familiar with me."
"Well...I don't think I've sent home a single letter since we first left Earth that didn't mention you in some way or other. I think she's suspected that we were growing closer for a while now." He hesitated. "I assume you told her that we were..."
"Bonded? Yes."
"And?"
"She had many questions. I forwarded her the definitive reference text on the subject of Vulcan mating."
For a moment, Trip's face went blank in shock as he digested this news. T'Pol sensed his panic under the surface. "I'm sorry. I should have let you tell your parents about our relationship."
"No...look, I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have told my family about us weeks ago. I just...didn't know how to tell her about you." Before she could respond, he continued. "It's not that you're Vulcan. What I mean is...marriage is the sort of thing that mothers back home like to be a part of, you know? I guess I was afraid she'd be disappointed if she found out she'd missed it."
T'Pol frowned in confusion. "You wish your mother had been present at our first mating?"
Trip's face blanched. "NO!! Hell, no! I was talking about the ceremony."
"We have not held a ceremony. It is considered a technicality in Vulcan society. The bond itself is the important thing."
"Well...on Earth, the ceremony is kind of a big deal."
T'Pol considered this. "Then perhaps we should hold one."
Trip reacted in surprise for a moment, then looked at her with a bemused smile. "Maybe we will. You're amazing, T'Pol. You know that?"
Now it was T'Pol's turn to smile...at least with her eyes. "So you have said." She glanced down at the water briefly, and he could sense her apprehension. "Your mother has invited me to join your family's celebration of your return."
"Of course she did. You're a part of that family now." He smiled at her amused, when she looked up. "I have to warn you, though, the Tuckers can be a little overwhelming for the uninitiated. Especially my mother. I'd hate to bring you home for the first time only to scare you away for good."
T'Pol understood his concern, reaching up to touch his cheek softly. "I would never choose to leave you. You are my husband. You are my life."
Trip felt her love for him flood his consciousness once more, and he sent his own to her in return. Soon they were kissing, lightly at first, but it was not long before things became more passionate. Then a chime sounded from the controls. Trip glanced over at it. He'd set the timer to alert him at 07:00.
"We've got breakfast with the Captain in an hour." He glanced back at T'Pol. "If we're gonna get you in scuba shape, we'd better get back to those swimming lessons."
Her eyes were growing feverish again. She ran her fingers inside the waistband of his swimming trunks. "Perhaps you can teach me when we reach Earth instead?"
Trip grinned, even as he began to succumb to the inevitable. He reached over to turn off the timer...and lock the door.
"Darlin', you're killing me here..."
"Captain, I thought you should know, we've crossed the Oort boundary. We're just passing Pluto now. ETA to Earth orbit is thirty-seven minutes."
"Right on schedule. I'll be up there in a little while, Malcolm."
"Aye, sir."
Archer flipped off the com and resumed his place at the breakfast table. Across from him, T'Pol was picking through a fruit salad, the very picture of composure. On his right, his Chief Engineer was plowing through a plate of French toast like there was no tomorrow. Every now and then, the Vulcan would glance over at Trip as he ate, and Archer was sure he could see a hint of amusement in her expression. The Captain shook his head in wonder and smiled.
"So...Admiral Forrest tells me there's going to be a lot of media waiting for us at Spacedock. It seems our homecoming is the top story on all the newscasts."
Trip grinned. "Imagine that. Seems kinda strange, goin' home after all this time. What have you got planned, Captain? After all the hoopla, I mean."
"Porthos and I are going on a nice, quiet retreat. We're staying at the cabin up in Banif."
"The one in the mountains? By the lake? I always loved that place."
"Me too. When my father died, I couldn't bring myself to sell it. What about you T'Pol?"
"Commander Tucker is presenting me to his family."
Archer laughed at her turn of phrase. "That should be...fascinating. The Tucker clan is quite the bunch. They're very..."
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Touchy-feely?"
The Captain laughed again, nodding at Trip. "I see he's been coaching you. I was going to say 'hands-on', but 'touchy-feely' works too. Are you ready for that?"
T'Pol considered the question. "They are now my family as well. It is my obligation to acquaint myself with them. I am looking forward to the opportunity." She was about to eat a bite of cantaloupe when she paused. "I have decided to bring extra nasal inhibitor as an added precautionary measure."
Both Trip and Archer were laughing now. Archer shook his head. "Very prudent, Sub-Commander."
Just then Trip seemed to remember something, and he turned to his friend. "Hey Captain...when you're finished retreatin' and all, you should come down and join us. Dad's gonna take us all out on the boat out next week. Everyone's invited—the whole command crew. My family would love to have you there."
Archer considered the offer. "Is your mom cooking her pasta jambalaya?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I wouldn't miss it."
Suddenly, T'Pol chimed in. "Captain...if I may make a recommendation for your retreat?"
Archer looked up in surprise, glancing quickly at Trip. "Certainly. What did you have in mind?"
"Perhaps you should consider taking the opportunity to have your tension relieved. It has worked remarkably well for Commander Tucker. I have noted that his efficiency has gone up by a factor of two since—"
Trip nearly choked on his breakfast. Archer shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Uh, I'll...I'll take that under advisement, T'Pol..."
At that very moment, up on the Bridge, Malcolm was also shifting in his chair. To be fair, it was really the Captain's chair, but it was his for the time being at least. Though the Enterprise was headed home, the Tactical Officer was feeling...well, depressed was too strong a word for it. Melancholy? Maybe. It was rare that Malcolm mourned the lack of intimate relationships that his duty made necessary. The Lieutenant loved his job with a passion and, most of the time, that was enough. But every now and then, the lack of companionship with a woman...well, in those rare moments he sometimes missed it.
It wasn't like there weren't women in his life. In fact, he'd struck up friendships with several of the female members of the ship's company. Ensign Sato, for example. Malcolm even considered their Vulcan First Officer a friend of sorts, at least professionally. There was a mutual respect between them, he knew. But he was now almost certain that T'Pol was, in fact, getting on with Commander Tucker, and had been for some weeks...shocking and unlikely though the idea might be. Lucky bastard, Malcolm thought disgustedly. Told me he hadn't even noticed her bum. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, Malcolm had been forced to sit watch on the Bridge for the last half-hour with Hoshi and Travis making eyes at one another. Hell, it almost seemed as if everyone on the ship was shagging but him!
Just then, Malcolm felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His misery quickly forgotten, the Lieutenant glanced around the Bridge cautiously. Nothing seemed amiss. On the main viewscreen, the giant, swirling bulk of Jupiter was swiftly growing in size as they approached. Hoshi and Travis were at their stations, as were other crewmen, and no one seemed concerned about anything. But for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, the Tactical Officer's nerves were on edge. Something just wasn't right. He couldn't shake the sudden sense of edginess he felt...and he'd learned to trust such things over the years.
It was then that the signal came in. Hoshi glanced up at him from Communications when her station chirped insistently.
"Sir...there's a coded message coming in from Starfleet. Top priority." She suddenly looked puzzled. "It's for you, Lieutenant."
Malcolm smiled wryly. "For me? You must be joking."
"No sir. It's definitely for you. Text only."
He frowned in surprise. He'd always hated surprises. "Send it to my station."
As Hoshi complied, he walked around to Tactical and activated a monitor. The incoming message appeared instantly:
SEC-31 00909887851
RT: Lt. M. Reed, TAC, NX-01
August 6, 1588. What would have happened if King Philip II had sent word to the Duke of Parma to meet the Spanish Armada at Calais a day early?
Something important is about to happen, Malcolm. Something terrible. Do not alert Captain Archer or anyone else—this is absolutely critical. It all depends on you now. You will be contacted again soon.
Be watchful. Be on your guard.
Malcolm blanched. He re-read the message. Then he re-read it again. Finally, he glanced up alarmed. "Hoshi, can you tell me who sent this message? The header's unusual. The point of origin signature is missing."
The Ensign checked her system and frowned. "That's strange. It was transmitted to us through the Ganymede com relay, but I'm not showing any record of where it came from, other than that it was included in the latest packet of communiqus from Starfleet. It could be an incomplete message. Shall I request a re-transmission from the relay?"
Malcolm shook his head absently, his mind whirling. "No. That's fine."
Hoshi noted his unusual expression and became concerned. "Are you sure?"
He erased the message and switched off the display. "Yes. Just forget about it." After a moment, he resumed his place in the Captain's chair and the Bridge returned to normal.
But if Malcolm had been edgy before, he was positively crawling out of his skin now. Why would anyone send such a message to him? Top priority transmissions were usually directed to the Captain. But this one was clearly meant for him.
What would have happened if King Philip II had sent word to the Duke of Parma to meet the Spanish Armada at Calais a day early?
That was easy. The combined forces of Philip and Parma would have easily deflected the attacking English fleet. Parma's army would have landed successfully at Kent and marched, almost unopposed, all the way to London. Queen Elizabeth Tudor would have been deposed. The course of British history would have changed. Malcolm had written a thesis on this very subject at Starfleet's Tactical College. Clearly, whoever had sent the message was aware of his historical expertise.
But who had sent it? And why? What did it mean? Why couldn't he tell the Captain? That bothered him as much, if not more, than anything else in the mysterious message. Could there be a security problem on board the Enterprise? Something wrong at their destination? Perhaps a threat directed against the ship after it arrived at Spacedock? A conspiracy in Starfleet? The possibilities multiplied quickly in Malcolm's mind...and none of them were reassuring.
Well...there was nothing he could do at the moment that wouldn't raise concern. Be watchful, the message had said. Be on your guard. Malcolm smiled grimly.
Too bloody right...
As the Enterprise dived across the ecliptic, racing toward the inner solar system, the angry colossus of Jupiter, with its glaring red eye, was left far behind. But though Jupiter's eye was ever-watchful, it was also unseeing. And even had it not been blind, no eye could have detected the ghostly disturbance that followed the first Human starship back to Earth.
That the disturbance was a cloaked warship would certainly have interested the Enterprise's Tactical Officer, had he been aware of it. That this particular class of warship had not yet been designed, built or put into operation by its masters—and would not be for more than a century—might have interested him even more.
But watchful and on his guard though Malcolm Reed now was, these facts were beyond his grasp. So the Enterprise continued on unaware. And, with just the slightest shimmer as its cloaking field was adjusted to compensate for the ever increasing solar winds, the warship followed it home.