fic: when the war is over (4/4) (star trek: enterprise)
Classifications and warnings available here.
Continued from Part III.
* * * * *
When the War Is Over by anr
* * * * *
* iv. only choice to face it the best i can *
Fifteen months after the Xindi proved that Earth is no more impregnable than any other world, Jupiter Station declares Enterprise once again fit for service. Their flag vessel has been repaired and refurbished, its systems upgraded with the latest technologies.
"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
Their gear safely stored in the rear of the craft, she claims her usual seat and nods. "The repair crews have done an admirable job." She watches the Captain watch Enterprise, the spacedocked vessel dwindling in size as they make their way back to Earth.
"Without a doubt." Finally looking away, Archer double-checks the controls. "Remind me to send Starfleet a series of commendations."
"Yes, Captain."
As they arc away from the spacedock and Earth fills the viewscreen, she finds herself studying the approaching planet. Blue and green and so completely unlike Vulcan; the differences between their planets never fails to affect her. Absently, she watches a storm front inch across the lower east coast of Australia.
"Heard from Trip lately?"
She frowns. "Commander Tucker is currently on leave." She does not add, as you well know.
"Been visiting his parents, hasn't he? In Michigan?"
"Mississippi." Another fact the Captain is already aware of. Briefly she wonders if he somehow managed to hit his head while they were on spacedock.
"Right."
San Francisco contacts them then to confirm their flight path and, while the Captain is busy, she watches Africa drift past.
"So... still coming tonight?"
With a start she realises that the Captain has finished conversing with the air traffic controller. "I'm sorry?"
"The staff get-together at the 602 Club. I was asking if you were still planning to attend."
"I am."
"Great!" He adjusts their trajectory slightly. "Trip bringing you?"
"I do not believe I need assistance in locating the establishment."
"Of course not." She thinks she can hear laughter in his tone.
They are contacted again by Earth then to confirm their landing details and, minutes later, she watches him guide their craft through the stratosphere and troposphere. Their landing is flawless and she says as much.
"Thanks." She nods absently as she leaves her seat and finds their bags, passing him his. "So I guess I'll see you both at the party, then?"
Both? Her gaze snaps to his.
Archer smiles and touches her shoulder. "I've been focused, T'Pol--not blind." He pulls away and heads for the hatch, glancing back only once. "Lorian was a good man," he says, winking at her. "Be a shame if he were an only child."
Speechless, she watches him exit the craft.
*
While she is not due to return to Enterprise until Sunday evening, she sees no reason to leave things until the last minute. Packing all but what she will need for the next two days, she organises for the rest of her belongings to be transferred back to the ship. Doing so leaves her quarters bare but she is used to the emptiness now.
She finishes the last of her paperwork for the High Command, the first of her paperwork for Starfleet (she will be Commander T'Pol now--her assignment having been approved earlier in the week), and writes to her mother. When there is nothing else left to do, she changes and leaves.
She has a party to attend.
*
He is waiting for her outside the compound, lounging against a low wall. When she approaches, he straightens and meets her halfway.
"Hey." His smile is beautiful--she wonders if he knows how much so.
"You're early."
"Couldn't wait." He nods towards the street. "Ready?"
"Yes."
*
People are staring at her, at them; veering noticeably away from their path. She watches a group of people cross the street to avoid having to brush past her.
"Ignore them."
Aware of the current xenophobia on this planet, she has taken care over the past month to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself. A man walks past, her superior hearing clearly understanding his mumbled insult; tonight, however, she has apparently failed in this effort.
Then she looks down at her outfit, at the robe she is wearing over her usual suit (the weather forecast had been cool), and realises her mistake. "I should not have worn this."
"You look great." His appreciation is warm and generous; despite her concern, she lets it distract her.
"How are your parents?"
"Fine." He pauses. "A little curious as to why a Vulcan Science Officer would want to talk to me every evenin'..." He catches her quick look and smiles. "So I told 'em that you were also the ship's First Officer and it was your duty to keep track of the senior staff. Dad said you must be very conscientious."
"You could have told them the truth."
"That you're not conscientious?"
"That I missed you." She says it quietly and is a little surprised to realise how not unnerving it is to admit that. Her feelings for Trip are still (sometimes) confusing and still (undeniably) intense... but no longer frightening. No longer seem... wrong. They're simply a part of who she is.
"Hmm." His shoulder brushes hers as they turn a corner. "So I was thinkin'... the next time we have leave?"
"Yes?" She watches a Human couple walking ahead of them. They are holding hands and she cannot help but wonder what it is like to be so intimate in public.
"We spend it together."
"Agreed."
*
The 602 Club is all but overwhelming.
"Think of it as a way to study human behaviour," Trip says, a hand hovering near the small of her back as he guides her through the room. "There's no better place than a bar to see us as we are, T'Pol."
Resisting the urge to slow her steps until his hand can actually press against her, she critiques the room as they navigate the crowd, unimpressed by his endorsement. "Ensign Phillips is dancing on a tabletop."
"Which is entertainin' and, for Ensign Phillips, a source of exercise." Finding a relatively uncrowded area near the partition that separates the restrooms from the rest of the Club, Trip halts and surveys the room himself.
"His behaviour is conduct unbecoming."
Laughing, he looks down at her, his expression amused. "Well, I never said it'd be good behaviour."
*
He leaves her briefly to visit the bar and returns with a small glass of beer for her and a larger one for himself.
"Like it?" he asks, watching her carefully as she sips at the beverage.
"Not particularly."
He laughs. "Want me to get you something else?"
She has no desire to sample the range of products available, an experiment she knows he would find endlessly amusing. "No. Thank you."
"As you like."
*
He leaves her again and again, his attention frequently captured by members of his Engineering crew, but she does not necessarily mind. There is Doctor Phlox to talk to, and Ensigns Sato and Mayweather, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal McKenzie. The evening passes quickly.
She can see the Captain across the room, laughing and talking and socialising with his crew, his easy-going demeanour a welcome change from the single-minded determination he had adopted in the Expanse. As she watches him, Trip finds her again and hands her a glass of water.
"Thank you," she says. The Captain's parting words from earlier are echoing in her mind and she looks at Trip curiously. "What was Lorian like?"
"Lorian?" He blinks, obviously surprised by the unexpected query. "Well, uh, he was smart, and, uh, easy to talk to. A nice guy and a pretty fair Captain from what I could tell."
"He shot you with a phase pistol," she says dryly.
"Your influence, obviously," he retorts. He shrugs. "He smiled though, and said he'd even been known to tell a joke once and awhile."
"Your influence," she echoes.
"Yeah." Silence, for a moment. Then, "I think we were real proud of him."
The best of both of them... "I wish--" The words catch in her throat and, resolutely, she forces them out. "I wish I had taken the time to know him better."
"Maybe one day," he says, carefully not looking at her, "you will."
*
"People are beginning to leave." As she voices the observation, she shifts and leans back against the partition, somewhat comforted when he follows her movements and angles towards her. They have spoken very little since she mentioned Lorian.
"Looks like." He gives her a soft smile.
Looking to the right, to the rest of the Club, she's further reassured when it appears their change in stance has gone unnoticed by the celebrating masses. Perhaps, if anonymity is the result, the Human practice of over-indulgence is not so bad after all.
He leans in even closer. "So," he says, "glad you came?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, and she shivers as his breath drifts across her neck.
"The evening has been satisfactory." Her hand rises and finds his arm close to hers; her fingers curl around his elbow.
In retaliation, his hand slips past the folds of her robe, fingers resting on her waist. She tightens her grip and anchors him there. "Just satisfactory?" he asks.
"The crew seems to be enjoying themselves." His thumb brushes the curve of her hipbone and her respiration increases.
"Well, there's a lot to be said for a bar tab." When his lips touch the point of her ear, the Club fades from existence.
She turns slightly and kisses him. Hard and quick.
Pulling back, she watches his pupils dilate as she licks her lips. "Christ," he says, breath uneven, "the things you do to me..."
She feels far from composed herself and the way he is looking at her (like she is water and oxygen and everything he needs to survive) does little to help. "I must concur."
Letting go of her hip, he finds her hand and tugs slightly. She follows willingly.
*
She has no desire for the night to end just yet, for their time together to be over, so she says nothing when they pass the Consulate and fail to even pause. The streets are mostly empty at this hour, their pace easy, and every so often he looks at her and smiles but doesn't say anything. She doesn't mind--the lack of conversation is peaceful after the cacophony of the Club.
Her hand is still in his, their fingers tangled. She decides she likes it.
*
The terminal is quiet, but not empty, and she tries not to look too surprised as Trip procures a shuttle. This is not what she expected.
"Academy's full to the rafters with new recruits, thanks to the Xindi and us," he says, as she watches him go through the pre-flight routines. "And I've never been too fond of hotelin' it here in the city."
She looks out the viewscreen, at the stars waiting for them. "Enterprise?" she surmises.
He smiles and engages the engines. "Let's go home."
*
It is refreshing to be on Enterprise once again and she cannot fault the Commander's decision to return. She has missed this. Missed the freedom she has here, the acceptance and respect she has earned. Here she is Commander T'Pol, science officer and Archer's first, and here nobody even looks twice to see her walking the hallways with a Human, with Commander Tucker.
In the turbolift they stand too close and his shoulder brushes hers. She tries not to assume anything.
*
"I guess I could give you a tour, show you all the improvements and modifications," Trip suggests, tone light as they make their way along B deck.
She has spent the past three days aboard the spacedock, going over the refit with Captain Archer, and there will be time enough on Monday, when they officially return to duty, to see the little that remains. "No."
"What about the mess hall? We could see if Chef's stocked up the galley...?"
She is not hungry. "No."
"Engineerin'? The bridge? The observation deck?" She stops in the middle of a corridor and simply looks at him until he sighs heavily. "Fine," he says. Taking a step to the side, he blindly palms a door lock. "Quarters?"
"Yes."
*
For all her poise there is a moment of uncertainty as she precedes him into his quarters (familiar and unchanged--no modifications here) and she cannot help but doubt herself. Is this what she really wants?
Then the door hisses shut and she turns instinctively at the sound, watching as he moves closer until they're near enough to touch. Until she can detect, hiding behind his smile, a trace of apprehension to mirror her own. It is strangely reassuring.
"Trip." She doesn't know what else to say.
"T'Pol."
And then he's in her arms, and she is in his, and nothing else matters. She finds it hard, suddenly, to remember that anything ever did.
*
The kiss is soft, and gentle, and reminds her somewhat of the goodbye she gave Sim, all those months ago. The Commander's touch, however, is wholly his own and she presses closer, eager for more.
"We should probably take it easy," he says, their lips parting just enough for speech. "Take our time and do this right."
"Agreed." Her fingers locate the hem of his shirt and ascend; his slide the robe from her shoulders.
"No need to rush, after all." She steps out of her shoes and, when they kiss, there's a subtle addition to the difference in their height before he toes off his own. "We've still got two full days before we go back on duty."
"Fifty-three hours." She unfastens his pants but lets him remove them as she slips out of her suit.
"Right. Plenty of time." His lips slant over hers as they move towards his bed and he sits suddenly when the backs of his knees find the edge, pulling her onto his lap as he descends. She shifts, trying to get comfortable, and then abandons the idea of comfort as more interesting sensations result from her movements. In response, his right hand flies to her hip and grips hard in an attempt to still her; his left finds the wetness between her thighs.
"Easy," he repeats, as she rocks into his touch and licks along his collarbone and neck until she can reach his lips again. When she palms him, he curses into her mouth.
They part to breathe and she answers, "yes."
"Slow..." His hand smoothes a path from hip to breast, thumb circling her nipple.
She bites her lip, and then his. "Yes."
Her hand has settled into a sharp rhythm, her other arm wrapping around his neck and holding their bodies close. "God," he says, panting into her neck, "now."
"Yes."
She takes him inside of her and, while it doesn't feel like completeness or home or any other similar Human notions, it does feel like release, like letting go and giving in and not being afraid of the fall.
Her eyes close as he tips back onto the bed, bringing her with him, and she concentrates on the push and pull of his body and hers, on each thrust and every stroke. They roll and turn and move and his hips jerk uncontrollably when her fingernails ladder his spine, her own breathing hitching as he nips the point of her ear. When his mouth finds her neck and her fingers bite into his forearms, she thinks she can hear the syllables of her name in his ragged breathing.
"Trip," she replies softly, pressing his name into the curve of his neck. He shudders and she says it again. "Trip."
Then they're falling, and he's catching her, and she was right because it's not like coming home but it is like finding peace and that, she decides, feels like love.
*
He sleeps, and she doesn't, and when he stirs in the starlight, his arms tighten around her instinctively. She likes that. A lot.
"Can't sleep?" The words are whispered, muffled against the curve of her shoulder, and she shivers.
"I do not wish to."
Pulling away just enough to look at her, he blinks in the darkness. "Somethin' wrong?" he asks, and the concern is his voice (though unnecessary) warms her. She thinks that, if she were Human, she would smile.
Vulcan, she kisses him instead. "No."
In her dreams, she's never this happy.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
Continued from Part III.
* * * * *
When the War Is Over by anr
* * * * *
* iv. only choice to face it the best i can *
Fifteen months after the Xindi proved that Earth is no more impregnable than any other world, Jupiter Station declares Enterprise once again fit for service. Their flag vessel has been repaired and refurbished, its systems upgraded with the latest technologies.
"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."
Their gear safely stored in the rear of the craft, she claims her usual seat and nods. "The repair crews have done an admirable job." She watches the Captain watch Enterprise, the spacedocked vessel dwindling in size as they make their way back to Earth.
"Without a doubt." Finally looking away, Archer double-checks the controls. "Remind me to send Starfleet a series of commendations."
"Yes, Captain."
As they arc away from the spacedock and Earth fills the viewscreen, she finds herself studying the approaching planet. Blue and green and so completely unlike Vulcan; the differences between their planets never fails to affect her. Absently, she watches a storm front inch across the lower east coast of Australia.
"Heard from Trip lately?"
She frowns. "Commander Tucker is currently on leave." She does not add, as you well know.
"Been visiting his parents, hasn't he? In Michigan?"
"Mississippi." Another fact the Captain is already aware of. Briefly she wonders if he somehow managed to hit his head while they were on spacedock.
"Right."
San Francisco contacts them then to confirm their flight path and, while the Captain is busy, she watches Africa drift past.
"So... still coming tonight?"
With a start she realises that the Captain has finished conversing with the air traffic controller. "I'm sorry?"
"The staff get-together at the 602 Club. I was asking if you were still planning to attend."
"I am."
"Great!" He adjusts their trajectory slightly. "Trip bringing you?"
"I do not believe I need assistance in locating the establishment."
"Of course not." She thinks she can hear laughter in his tone.
They are contacted again by Earth then to confirm their landing details and, minutes later, she watches him guide their craft through the stratosphere and troposphere. Their landing is flawless and she says as much.
"Thanks." She nods absently as she leaves her seat and finds their bags, passing him his. "So I guess I'll see you both at the party, then?"
Both? Her gaze snaps to his.
Archer smiles and touches her shoulder. "I've been focused, T'Pol--not blind." He pulls away and heads for the hatch, glancing back only once. "Lorian was a good man," he says, winking at her. "Be a shame if he were an only child."
Speechless, she watches him exit the craft.
*
While she is not due to return to Enterprise until Sunday evening, she sees no reason to leave things until the last minute. Packing all but what she will need for the next two days, she organises for the rest of her belongings to be transferred back to the ship. Doing so leaves her quarters bare but she is used to the emptiness now.
She finishes the last of her paperwork for the High Command, the first of her paperwork for Starfleet (she will be Commander T'Pol now--her assignment having been approved earlier in the week), and writes to her mother. When there is nothing else left to do, she changes and leaves.
She has a party to attend.
*
He is waiting for her outside the compound, lounging against a low wall. When she approaches, he straightens and meets her halfway.
"Hey." His smile is beautiful--she wonders if he knows how much so.
"You're early."
"Couldn't wait." He nods towards the street. "Ready?"
"Yes."
*
People are staring at her, at them; veering noticeably away from their path. She watches a group of people cross the street to avoid having to brush past her.
"Ignore them."
Aware of the current xenophobia on this planet, she has taken care over the past month to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself. A man walks past, her superior hearing clearly understanding his mumbled insult; tonight, however, she has apparently failed in this effort.
Then she looks down at her outfit, at the robe she is wearing over her usual suit (the weather forecast had been cool), and realises her mistake. "I should not have worn this."
"You look great." His appreciation is warm and generous; despite her concern, she lets it distract her.
"How are your parents?"
"Fine." He pauses. "A little curious as to why a Vulcan Science Officer would want to talk to me every evenin'..." He catches her quick look and smiles. "So I told 'em that you were also the ship's First Officer and it was your duty to keep track of the senior staff. Dad said you must be very conscientious."
"You could have told them the truth."
"That you're not conscientious?"
"That I missed you." She says it quietly and is a little surprised to realise how not unnerving it is to admit that. Her feelings for Trip are still (sometimes) confusing and still (undeniably) intense... but no longer frightening. No longer seem... wrong. They're simply a part of who she is.
"Hmm." His shoulder brushes hers as they turn a corner. "So I was thinkin'... the next time we have leave?"
"Yes?" She watches a Human couple walking ahead of them. They are holding hands and she cannot help but wonder what it is like to be so intimate in public.
"We spend it together."
"Agreed."
*
The 602 Club is all but overwhelming.
"Think of it as a way to study human behaviour," Trip says, a hand hovering near the small of her back as he guides her through the room. "There's no better place than a bar to see us as we are, T'Pol."
Resisting the urge to slow her steps until his hand can actually press against her, she critiques the room as they navigate the crowd, unimpressed by his endorsement. "Ensign Phillips is dancing on a tabletop."
"Which is entertainin' and, for Ensign Phillips, a source of exercise." Finding a relatively uncrowded area near the partition that separates the restrooms from the rest of the Club, Trip halts and surveys the room himself.
"His behaviour is conduct unbecoming."
Laughing, he looks down at her, his expression amused. "Well, I never said it'd be good behaviour."
*
He leaves her briefly to visit the bar and returns with a small glass of beer for her and a larger one for himself.
"Like it?" he asks, watching her carefully as she sips at the beverage.
"Not particularly."
He laughs. "Want me to get you something else?"
She has no desire to sample the range of products available, an experiment she knows he would find endlessly amusing. "No. Thank you."
"As you like."
*
He leaves her again and again, his attention frequently captured by members of his Engineering crew, but she does not necessarily mind. There is Doctor Phlox to talk to, and Ensigns Sato and Mayweather, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal McKenzie. The evening passes quickly.
She can see the Captain across the room, laughing and talking and socialising with his crew, his easy-going demeanour a welcome change from the single-minded determination he had adopted in the Expanse. As she watches him, Trip finds her again and hands her a glass of water.
"Thank you," she says. The Captain's parting words from earlier are echoing in her mind and she looks at Trip curiously. "What was Lorian like?"
"Lorian?" He blinks, obviously surprised by the unexpected query. "Well, uh, he was smart, and, uh, easy to talk to. A nice guy and a pretty fair Captain from what I could tell."
"He shot you with a phase pistol," she says dryly.
"Your influence, obviously," he retorts. He shrugs. "He smiled though, and said he'd even been known to tell a joke once and awhile."
"Your influence," she echoes.
"Yeah." Silence, for a moment. Then, "I think we were real proud of him."
The best of both of them... "I wish--" The words catch in her throat and, resolutely, she forces them out. "I wish I had taken the time to know him better."
"Maybe one day," he says, carefully not looking at her, "you will."
*
"People are beginning to leave." As she voices the observation, she shifts and leans back against the partition, somewhat comforted when he follows her movements and angles towards her. They have spoken very little since she mentioned Lorian.
"Looks like." He gives her a soft smile.
Looking to the right, to the rest of the Club, she's further reassured when it appears their change in stance has gone unnoticed by the celebrating masses. Perhaps, if anonymity is the result, the Human practice of over-indulgence is not so bad after all.
He leans in even closer. "So," he says, "glad you came?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, and she shivers as his breath drifts across her neck.
"The evening has been satisfactory." Her hand rises and finds his arm close to hers; her fingers curl around his elbow.
In retaliation, his hand slips past the folds of her robe, fingers resting on her waist. She tightens her grip and anchors him there. "Just satisfactory?" he asks.
"The crew seems to be enjoying themselves." His thumb brushes the curve of her hipbone and her respiration increases.
"Well, there's a lot to be said for a bar tab." When his lips touch the point of her ear, the Club fades from existence.
She turns slightly and kisses him. Hard and quick.
Pulling back, she watches his pupils dilate as she licks her lips. "Christ," he says, breath uneven, "the things you do to me..."
She feels far from composed herself and the way he is looking at her (like she is water and oxygen and everything he needs to survive) does little to help. "I must concur."
Letting go of her hip, he finds her hand and tugs slightly. She follows willingly.
*
She has no desire for the night to end just yet, for their time together to be over, so she says nothing when they pass the Consulate and fail to even pause. The streets are mostly empty at this hour, their pace easy, and every so often he looks at her and smiles but doesn't say anything. She doesn't mind--the lack of conversation is peaceful after the cacophony of the Club.
Her hand is still in his, their fingers tangled. She decides she likes it.
*
The terminal is quiet, but not empty, and she tries not to look too surprised as Trip procures a shuttle. This is not what she expected.
"Academy's full to the rafters with new recruits, thanks to the Xindi and us," he says, as she watches him go through the pre-flight routines. "And I've never been too fond of hotelin' it here in the city."
She looks out the viewscreen, at the stars waiting for them. "Enterprise?" she surmises.
He smiles and engages the engines. "Let's go home."
*
It is refreshing to be on Enterprise once again and she cannot fault the Commander's decision to return. She has missed this. Missed the freedom she has here, the acceptance and respect she has earned. Here she is Commander T'Pol, science officer and Archer's first, and here nobody even looks twice to see her walking the hallways with a Human, with Commander Tucker.
In the turbolift they stand too close and his shoulder brushes hers. She tries not to assume anything.
*
"I guess I could give you a tour, show you all the improvements and modifications," Trip suggests, tone light as they make their way along B deck.
She has spent the past three days aboard the spacedock, going over the refit with Captain Archer, and there will be time enough on Monday, when they officially return to duty, to see the little that remains. "No."
"What about the mess hall? We could see if Chef's stocked up the galley...?"
She is not hungry. "No."
"Engineerin'? The bridge? The observation deck?" She stops in the middle of a corridor and simply looks at him until he sighs heavily. "Fine," he says. Taking a step to the side, he blindly palms a door lock. "Quarters?"
"Yes."
*
For all her poise there is a moment of uncertainty as she precedes him into his quarters (familiar and unchanged--no modifications here) and she cannot help but doubt herself. Is this what she really wants?
Then the door hisses shut and she turns instinctively at the sound, watching as he moves closer until they're near enough to touch. Until she can detect, hiding behind his smile, a trace of apprehension to mirror her own. It is strangely reassuring.
"Trip." She doesn't know what else to say.
"T'Pol."
And then he's in her arms, and she is in his, and nothing else matters. She finds it hard, suddenly, to remember that anything ever did.
*
The kiss is soft, and gentle, and reminds her somewhat of the goodbye she gave Sim, all those months ago. The Commander's touch, however, is wholly his own and she presses closer, eager for more.
"We should probably take it easy," he says, their lips parting just enough for speech. "Take our time and do this right."
"Agreed." Her fingers locate the hem of his shirt and ascend; his slide the robe from her shoulders.
"No need to rush, after all." She steps out of her shoes and, when they kiss, there's a subtle addition to the difference in their height before he toes off his own. "We've still got two full days before we go back on duty."
"Fifty-three hours." She unfastens his pants but lets him remove them as she slips out of her suit.
"Right. Plenty of time." His lips slant over hers as they move towards his bed and he sits suddenly when the backs of his knees find the edge, pulling her onto his lap as he descends. She shifts, trying to get comfortable, and then abandons the idea of comfort as more interesting sensations result from her movements. In response, his right hand flies to her hip and grips hard in an attempt to still her; his left finds the wetness between her thighs.
"Easy," he repeats, as she rocks into his touch and licks along his collarbone and neck until she can reach his lips again. When she palms him, he curses into her mouth.
They part to breathe and she answers, "yes."
"Slow..." His hand smoothes a path from hip to breast, thumb circling her nipple.
She bites her lip, and then his. "Yes."
Her hand has settled into a sharp rhythm, her other arm wrapping around his neck and holding their bodies close. "God," he says, panting into her neck, "now."
"Yes."
She takes him inside of her and, while it doesn't feel like completeness or home or any other similar Human notions, it does feel like release, like letting go and giving in and not being afraid of the fall.
Her eyes close as he tips back onto the bed, bringing her with him, and she concentrates on the push and pull of his body and hers, on each thrust and every stroke. They roll and turn and move and his hips jerk uncontrollably when her fingernails ladder his spine, her own breathing hitching as he nips the point of her ear. When his mouth finds her neck and her fingers bite into his forearms, she thinks she can hear the syllables of her name in his ragged breathing.
"Trip," she replies softly, pressing his name into the curve of his neck. He shudders and she says it again. "Trip."
Then they're falling, and he's catching her, and she was right because it's not like coming home but it is like finding peace and that, she decides, feels like love.
*
He sleeps, and she doesn't, and when he stirs in the starlight, his arms tighten around her instinctively. She likes that. A lot.
"Can't sleep?" The words are whispered, muffled against the curve of her shoulder, and she shivers.
"I do not wish to."
Pulling away just enough to look at her, he blinks in the darkness. "Somethin' wrong?" he asks, and the concern is his voice (though unnecessary) warms her. She thinks that, if she were Human, she would smile.
Vulcan, she kisses him instead. "No."
In her dreams, she's never this happy.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*