Star Trek Enterprise -- "Silent"
a late fill for oxoniensis's Porn Battle XI
prompt: Trip/T'Pol, touch, longing
Silent | NC-17 | 614 words | complete
T’Pol has wanted this longer than she is willing to admit. She is Vulcan, she is exemplary at redirecting her thoughts when they become too emotional, something she cannot handle. And even after she begins to welcome those emotions, she still ignores this. She is above this kind of physiological response.
And yet, when she meditates, instead of picturing the shifting sands of the Forge, she sees Trip’s competent hands working on delicate machinery, the slide of muscles in his arms and back when he exercises in the gym. A trickle of sweat running down his brow the last time they explored a planet with an ambient temperature that was higher than ideal for humans.
His skin is cool against hers now, slightly damp from the higher temperature she prefers to keep her quarters. But his hands are just as capable as she had observed, marking trails of sensation on her back and breasts and belly as he removes her sleeping shirt and lays her down on the narrow softness of her bunk. He presses a kiss to the center of her palm when she reaches up to touch his face, and it sends shivers down her arm.
Trip sits back to efficiently strip out of his clothes, then he is over her again, cool weight gently pressing her to the bed. She could easily toss him across the room, but there is something about being in his arms that makes T’Pol feel both fragile and protected, delicate and safe. It is a phenomenon she will have to consider later.
Because now he is pressing Human kisses to her breasts and belly, fingers tucked in the waistband of her sleeping pants. He pauses to lavish attention on one of her nipples, and she is shocked to realize that the breathy gasp she hears is coming from her own throat. She feels more than hears Trip’s chuckle, and then he is pulling down her pants and pressing kisses to the jut of her hipbone.
They do not speak as she curls her hands around his shoulders, drawing him up so she can wrap one leg around his hips. He looks like he is going to ask a question but she kisses him silent. She has heard of the Human concept of foreplay, but she is too impatient. She bucks her hips against his and he groans. She feels her mouth curl into the tiniest of smiles but does nothing to stop it.
Trip reaches between them and then he is sliding into her, one hand braced above her head, the other on her hip. Human anatomy is similar to Vulcan, and they come together as if their bodies were made just for this. An illogical thought, but an appealing one nonetheless.
His movements are slow and steady, and she silently urges him on by gently tightening her legs around his hips. He will not be swayed, but T’Pol cannot complain; the sensations are more than pleasant. She rocks her hips into his and he begins to lose his rhythm, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and exhaling her name; T’Pol assumes he has climaxed. She consciously releases the constraints she had placed on her physiological responses, and then she is climaxing as well, sensation pouring through her like rain.
She wraps her arms around him, halting his attempt to get up. He does not seem to mind, since he merely rolls them so they can curl up on their sides. His hands stroke over her back and side, and she closes her eyes, resting her forehead against his. She can feel his contentment, his banked arousal and his affection, and it lulls her to sleep.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
prompt: Trip/T'Pol, touch, longing
Silent | NC-17 | 614 words | complete
T’Pol has wanted this longer than she is willing to admit. She is Vulcan, she is exemplary at redirecting her thoughts when they become too emotional, something she cannot handle. And even after she begins to welcome those emotions, she still ignores this. She is above this kind of physiological response.
And yet, when she meditates, instead of picturing the shifting sands of the Forge, she sees Trip’s competent hands working on delicate machinery, the slide of muscles in his arms and back when he exercises in the gym. A trickle of sweat running down his brow the last time they explored a planet with an ambient temperature that was higher than ideal for humans.
His skin is cool against hers now, slightly damp from the higher temperature she prefers to keep her quarters. But his hands are just as capable as she had observed, marking trails of sensation on her back and breasts and belly as he removes her sleeping shirt and lays her down on the narrow softness of her bunk. He presses a kiss to the center of her palm when she reaches up to touch his face, and it sends shivers down her arm.
Trip sits back to efficiently strip out of his clothes, then he is over her again, cool weight gently pressing her to the bed. She could easily toss him across the room, but there is something about being in his arms that makes T’Pol feel both fragile and protected, delicate and safe. It is a phenomenon she will have to consider later.
Because now he is pressing Human kisses to her breasts and belly, fingers tucked in the waistband of her sleeping pants. He pauses to lavish attention on one of her nipples, and she is shocked to realize that the breathy gasp she hears is coming from her own throat. She feels more than hears Trip’s chuckle, and then he is pulling down her pants and pressing kisses to the jut of her hipbone.
They do not speak as she curls her hands around his shoulders, drawing him up so she can wrap one leg around his hips. He looks like he is going to ask a question but she kisses him silent. She has heard of the Human concept of foreplay, but she is too impatient. She bucks her hips against his and he groans. She feels her mouth curl into the tiniest of smiles but does nothing to stop it.
Trip reaches between them and then he is sliding into her, one hand braced above her head, the other on her hip. Human anatomy is similar to Vulcan, and they come together as if their bodies were made just for this. An illogical thought, but an appealing one nonetheless.
His movements are slow and steady, and she silently urges him on by gently tightening her legs around his hips. He will not be swayed, but T’Pol cannot complain; the sensations are more than pleasant. She rocks her hips into his and he begins to lose his rhythm, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and exhaling her name; T’Pol assumes he has climaxed. She consciously releases the constraints she had placed on her physiological responses, and then she is climaxing as well, sensation pouring through her like rain.
She wraps her arms around him, halting his attempt to get up. He does not seem to mind, since he merely rolls them so they can curl up on their sides. His hands stroke over her back and side, and she closes her eyes, resting her forehead against his. She can feel his contentment, his banked arousal and his affection, and it lulls her to sleep.
Feedback is better than chocolate.