Here we are, my friends. The narration (take note, please: the narration, not the story) continues.
And. .. well ... I think in all honesty that more than any introduction it is these images that are worth.
And. .. well ... I think in all honesty that more than any introduction it is these images that are worth.
Beautiful sequence, is not it?
How? Who took these pictures? Ah, my friends: we say the sin, not the sinner..
How? Who took these pictures? Ah, my friends: we say the sin, not the sinner..
However, I just think at this point it is really coming to you all the desire to read...
A big cheeky smile widened out on Trip's face. He manoeuvred to sink a little bit, so that only his eyes, mischievous and irreverent, could emerge. Sparkling with fun, they watched T'Pol.
With mild and well calibrated thrusts, he slowly approached her, who was looking at him half-waiting half-quizzical, to the point that their two bodies hindered one another in their sustaining in the water. Then, suddenly, he retreated with a quick spurt and right after made his face come out, in full, from the water, still with that bantering smile on his mouth and that glint of tease in his eyes, indeed now even more archly gleaming.
"Mh. I'm not so sure it's a good idea, babe. You can also be the wonder of wonders, can also have been able to learn how to float by yourself in the water in such a short time; even more, you can also have been capable of accomplishing the exuberant performance you did; but from here to be a so clever swimmer and skilled to allow you the luxury to do with me what you suggest we do ... well, there it takes a lot, my love, so vulcanly self-confident."
The teasing smile turned into a blatant smirk. "Maybe some light kiss and small could be enough. Don't you think is better? After all, we are only at your first swimming lesson." - The smirk changed into a grin, which be defined puckish would be an understatement. – "Others will follow."
T'Pol raised her eyebrow. She had to admit that, even with all her strength and her remarkable Vulcan resistance, it was hard for her sustaining herself in the water. The density of her body certainly didn't help her, and the movements she had to make were necessarily greater, in number and power, than those required of Trip.
He was absolutely right.
(*Damn insolent Human!*).
She watched him, her eyebrow still lifted and nevertheless flaunting the most deadpan of faces for an authentic Vulcan.
He wished for her. He wanted her. It was clear. Evident. She could feel it. He wanted her at least as much as she wanted him.
And he provoked her. Pricked her. Challenged her! One more time, he challenged her!
His argumentation was nothing more than another of his dirty tricks. What he said was true, it was logical, but the way he said it, his whole non verbal language, meant: Let's see, my ... - Yes, he would have spoken so - ... my sweet vulcan doll, let's see. Let's see if you're capable of daring, of showing me one more time the special Vulcan who you are. My special Vulcan!
She didn't have to fall for it. She did not have to!
(*Damn impudent Human!*).
Although the undeniable efforts she had to make, although her previous "exuberant performance" hadn't passed without leaving its mark, which, though, with her usual constitutional stubbornness, matched only by that of her pig-headed Human, she, against all logic, struggled not to admit, and indeed peremptorily refused to admit more or less consciously... in spite of all this...
(*Damn overbold Human!*).
The fact was that she was indeed a very special Vulcan, and, above all, the special Vulcan of Trip.
Without Trip being able to notice it, T'Pol started to prepare herself.
The eyebrow went down, changing her face into a stolidly suave expression.
"Do I have to assume that your so much self-vaunted ability to swimmer is not sufficient to make up for my lack of experience, in case of … - She emphasized strongly the words - …such peculiar circumstances?"
"Well, Hon. Such peculiar circumstances..."
"Even worse. Do I have to assume I have been wrong to trust you, when, in front of my objections, that you defined as an expression of - textually - my usual exorbitant vulcan caution, you told me that it was not necessary to have any lifeguard, because you, alone, with all your skills and experience, were more than enough? Again I quote verbatim."
"Hey, babe! I do not speak in vain! Never! You should know, by now!"
"And not only. You've also said that your ability to swimmer was such that there was no fear of any possible danger that lurked under the water, as any kind of unexpected underwater currents or something. Not to mention your bragged assertion that you could effectively handle whichever kind of sea life we might meet hereabout."
"Hey, sort of peppered honey! I'm just saying that I do not ..."
"Speak in vain?"
"Is it a challenge?"
"But when have I never challenged you? This would really be… in bad taste."
Those words from her… those words that were his same words!
Trip goggled his eyes and lost control. The water of the sea, insolent and impertinent, slipped into his open mouth.
Cough cough... sputter - "Damn chee... - cough - Damn cheeky vulcan female! - Cough - Now... - sputter - Now I'll show you if I speak in vain or not!
Okay. Perfect. - (*In this way, my insolent… loved Human.*) - Now T'Pol was ready. She was going to get into trouble and she knew it. But, to quote Trip, who gave a damn? Her whole life had become a trouble, a… a mess, since she had fallen in… in this damn mess named love!
The most desirable of messes!
"Okay, T'hai'la. Show me what you're capable of doing."
Trip stretched out a hand.
"But first, you have to take me, my dear T'hai'la."
T'Pol moved back a little, and Trip's hand grabbed the void
"You know, my dearest T'hai'la, I'm a vulcan female - a cheeky vulcan female - so, you must earn me, even in the water, not only on the mainland, like you did last night."
Trip snorted, happily resigned. And excited. He arranged himself for the marine attack.
"However, there's no guarantee, my beloved T'hai'la, that, even with all your much-vaunted ability as a swimmer, you will succeed in doing in the water what you managed to do on the mainland. This time I won't let me be taken by surprise. Your treacherous tricks won't do you any good."
T'Pol disposed herself for the jerk, while Trip, with narrowed eyes, was getting ready for his, unaware, however, of those which were the true intentions of T'Pol.
He wanted, he had challenged her, to overcome once again her innate and logical and damned tendency and habit to go feet first, to walk on eggshells; he wanted, just by flaunting in front of her cute nose, the illogic of doing what she herself had suggested to do, her to be pushed to dare. He knew that this was a very good system because T'Pol - now he knew it very well - could not resist the idea of doing what he made her understand that she wasn't able to do. T'Pol was always looking to overcome her limits, whether consciously or not, and just for this she was a Vulcan - a woman - really special, just for this she was so unique, so rare a gem. For this reason, as if the rest were not enough, he loved her so madly.
She needed only, almost always, a little push and this he had given her, even in that circumstance, and if the particular way in which she had decided to take up his challenge one more time, would also bring with it a little of that exciting fight of love she had given him the pleasure to enjoy the night before, so be it!
But Trip could not imagine how much beyond her supposed limits T'Pol had decided to go, picking up his challenge; he had no idea what was behind her own words of defiance.
"And then, my adored T'hai'la, you've going to prove that you're really the great swimmer you say you are."
And, a shot of the heel, a contortion, and she turned and, with all her strength, awkwardly and distortedly but powerfully, began to swim forward, towards the shore, escaping from him, who stood there, totally caught off guard, unable to believe that she could have thought to do what she was doing.
Or trying to do.
Eh sure, because this time T'Pol really had overestimated herself.
The fatigue was felt. Strongly. Too much effort. Too much. T'Pol felt her forces weaken. Lost coordination. Lost concentration. And the shore was not close.
She reeled. Gasped.
Trip, who had begun to go after her, to chase her, noticed it immediately. He wasted no time to curse his stupidity for having challenged her nor hers for having gone above and beyond what the challenge entailed. He quickened potently the strokes of his arms and legs.
Thankfully, if T'Pol had overestimated herself, she had also underestimated how truly Trip was a good swimmer.
In a flash, he was just behind her, who had begun to be overwhelmed by the water and was fidgeting vainly and was sinking. He quickly slipped under the water, which had by now become shut over T'Pol, and rushed on her. He stretched out, reached out to grab her and he did it, grasping the first thing of her that he could catch, without understanding, in the confusion and in the ferment of the water, what he had gripped.
The noise was muffled underwater, but it has been heard pretty well anyway.
A sound as a damped "RIP!"
Trip certainly did not wonder what it was or meant, actually he did not even pay attention. The only thing that mattered to him was that his grip, even if insufficient to grasp T'Pol firmly, however had allowed him to catch her.
He grabbed her with both his arms, spun around himself belly up, placed himself below her, under water, propelled her upward, toward the surface, until she emerged and could breathe, sustained her, managed to get his head out from the water with great effort and finally pushed her and himself, hardly and without breath, towards the beach, only with the push of his legs, swimming backwards desperately, with his back turned down.
God willing, they came to the shore. The surf has been kind; it didn't suck them back toward the sea. It drove them along the strand. It stirred them a little and then left them.
And they lay panting on the sand.
Trip below T'Pol, on his back, and T'Pol above him, her face down and buried in his neck.
A few moments passed.
Motionless in that position, they were trying to recover, to overcome fear, unaware if they were died or alive, unaware of one another.
Then, finally, Trip opened his eyes, almost painfully, and he realized.
Where they were, out of the sea thankfully, and where they lay and how.
And he felt the dead weight of T'Pol on him.
(*Oh God! Oh my God!*)
Then he heard - and felt - her breathe against him.
(*Oh my God, yes! Yes, my God!*)
"T'Pol! T'Pol! Honey, MY TREASURE!"
A cough, another, and then, at last, uncertain and muffled, her voice, her marvellously sweet voice!
And he pressed tightly to him the treasure he had almost risked losing.
Then the anger came!
Stronger than the relief.
And even more so, if he thought that T'Pol's reckless action had been in a sense the result of his own behaviour, of his idiotic challenge, of his foolish habit to push her to do things she would never have done, if not provoked by him, and this, namely the idea that the touchpaper of the thoughtless conduct of T'Pol could have been him, multiplied his rage. And this rage, this rage… he had to give vent to it, somehow, he had to give vent to the tension! He had to pick on someone! On T'Pol, damnit! On her!
Sure, because if he was stupid, this didn't mean that she, too, should be stupid! Bond or not Bond! She was T'Pol, for the devil! She was not him! She was clever, smart, prudent, cautious, level-headed. She could not, had not to behave like him! And then, in any case, she ... she should not have done what she had done! She had promised, goddamn! And it was not the first time she overestimated herself, risking her life, not caring about him and what he said to her, like that time with the Romulans' drone. But this time she had exceeded all limits. Damn Vulcan! But what the hell had she thought to do?
"T'Pol! But what's gotten into you? Are you crazy? You had promised it to me, for devil' sake! Me! Me, I am the inconsiderate lunatic! Me! Not you!"
T'Pol opened her eyes in turn, wide awake now, and fully aware.
Yeah. What had come over her? Okay, the Bond, but...
Dazed and unsure, she gently extricated herself from Trip's embrace.
She needed to see him well, had to look into his eyes to try to explain to him, if possible, although it would be hard for her not to escape his angry gaze and rightly accusatory. But she had to do it. She needed to find in their wondrous blue something of his love for her that always shone in them, which could be of use for her to try to justify herself.
And to be forgiven.
Even if, frankly, this was one of those times when she did not know how to do it.
This time she had really done it!
In comparison, her behaviour of that time with the Romulans' drone, had been nothing, less than nothing. At least, in that case, she could have had some real justification, given the situation. And then, at that time, she and Trip were not to each other what they were now; she, persevering in her stupid dumb stubbornness, hadn't yet fully followed her heart. But now... now... what kind of excuse could she ever find?
Worry and dismay seized her. She couldn't control them, it would take the help of Trip for her to do it, but her Trip was too angry with her, now, - she could sense it perfectly even without the Bond - to soothe her troubles as he was wont to do, to give her the balance that only with him and through him she could have. Her concern, her anxiety, were such that the tension she was feeling now blanked out the tension and exhaustion resulting from the mess from which the two of them had just come, and this just thanks to him, thanks to his expertise in swimmer that she had challenged him to prove.
He had said it to her, for Surak's sake! He had told her not to overdo, not to take too much confidence with the sea. In his own way, of course, but he had been very clear. And she had promised! And she had not honoured!
How, what, could she do?
She… she was in a cleft stick, her T'hai'la would say.
She sat up slowly, leveraging with her arms on his chest and putting herself astride him, her legs bent, her knees resting on the sand against his sides, not to miss the reassuring contact with his body and at the same time, to be able to watch him well. To attempt to stare into his eyes and withstand their gaze.
And, in doing so, she realized that...
Her pelvis was exactly above his, to better say the lower part of her pelvis, or to say even better the most concealed part of her body, the one… between her thighs, and her new position, sitting on top of him, straddling him, who was still lying supine on the sand, allowed her to feel – perfectly, in fullness, even if maybe not exactly at… its maximum, considering what had just happened and the consequence of being drenched - his own fullness.
Just… against the right spot.
As if nothing were interposed between the mentioned spot and his fullness.
Nothing… - T'Pol's hands darted down to check - …but his swimsuit. And… only that.
Her gaze flickered from the frowning and angry face and of Trip - whose rage had prevented him from noticing the moves of T'Pol's hands - to his arms, pillowed at his sides on the sand; to his hands; to his right hand, which, unknowing, was holding between the fingers something that she had seen with the corner of her eye, without paying attention to it, to what it was.
But now she could see what it was.
T'Pol suddenly realized what she had to do. To make amends by Trip, she had to behave just as T'Pol, the T'Pol who he loved, exactly the T'Pol he had fallen in love with, and who - she knew it very well, by now - he absolutely didn't want to change, be different from the woman who was and who had chained his heart, as always he was saying to her. But, at the same time, she had to make grip on his innate sense of humour, his weird, odd, sense of humour, the one she had learned to understand and appreciate and, even, to share.
However, all this was not enough. The T'Pol who had born from her love for Trip, understood, knew very well, that in doing all this, she should also show to him, with body language, how much she loved him and wanted him. Something that she had not been able to do before, but now, yes. With him, yes.
Her Trip was very sensitive to body language, her body, a fact, this one, that - she had to be honest with herself and admit it - never failed to fill her with pleasure and pride.
And in front of all that - she knew it, had no doubt - the anger of her T'hai'la would evaporate… her beloved would have said thus, yes, he would have talked so…. would evaporate like snow in the sun.
And - T'Pol savoured rejoicingly the fullness she felt… there - despite all had just happened, despite the fear, despite the exhaustion she felt – she had felt, until a few moments before, before she realized she was safe, in Trip's arms - it would have cost her no effort, no fatigue.
Fear and fatigue… would evaporate like snow in the sun.
They had already evaporated like snow in the sun.
She straightened her torso and stretched herself, as if trying to chase away the fatigue and eliminate the lactic acid accumulated in her muscles, to put it as any Vulcan would, with an innocent doing, which, though, looked as decidedly not-vaguely voluptuous. She stretched out her arms to him and lay softly her hands on his chest, looking like she was doing this to support herself, but also for something more than merely that. For suggesting something else.
But, obviously, in doing that, she - inevitably – had to move her pelvis a little.
Which… would have brought with it that he could not have failed to feel her, - her softness - through the thin fabric and wet of his swim briefs, with... a highly sensory and tactile perception.
She looked him straight in the eyes, well open, now, perplexed and amazed, aimed to understand what she was doing, as well as his confused brain had swerved suddenly to try comprehending what he was… feeling - and the damn sensitive way with which he was feeling it! - while his fulness responded to her softness and, in the teeth of everything, of what had just happened, of his anger and his exhaustion, started inescapably to turn into hardness.
Which, of course, has been immediately perceived by T'Pol.
Very well. Everything was going as it should. Now it was time to talk. Exactly as he, her T'hai'la, would have expected she would do. But only up to a certain point. Yes, only up to a certain point.
T'Pol spoke with her usual neutral tone, as neutral it appeared her face, but her voice was slightly hoarse, and her expression, in some way, languid. Nebulously and yet explicitly allusive.
She knew that her T'hai'la knew how to grasp every sign in her, every little nuance, what no one else would be able to perceive, not even remotely. And this time it came to signals decidedly far away from being mere nuances.
"You have it with the lower part of my clothes, apparently, whether it comes to my shorts or to my bikini panties. Shall I assume that this has some recondite meaning? "
Trip's eyes narrowed in his effort to understand.
Then they widened as he began to understand.
Then they turned quickly to the right, in the direction in which he had before seen move the eyes of T'Pol and there, in his right hand, inadvertently still clutched in it, he could see. And realize what it had been the dull sound - that sort of muffled tear - he had vaguely perceived in the water.
It was there, imprisoned between his fingers. A small shred of red cloth.
All what was left of the bikini panties of T'Pol.
Just in that moment, the mentioned Vulcan female moved a little again. Right there. With her right spot against his right spot.
Trip's eyes, more and more open wide, returned quickly on T'Pol, on her face.
She was looking at him. With a look ... with a look...
And how she was leaning to him with her slim and shapely arms! How her sensitive hands were lazily – languidly! - ruffling the hair of his chest!
Damn scoundrel of a Vulcan female!
Her choked name was all he could say. Trip wasn't able to continue. Perforce! T'Pol had moved again! Definitely… intentionally.
His eyes darted down, looking at her lower parts. Nude. In full - and wanted - contact with his lower parts, covered, they yes, hitherto, but about to erupt out from the tenuous barrier of the briefs of his bathing suit.
Trip understood. Finally he fully understood. And surrendered. Damn dodger of a girl! Gosh, how much she had learned love things! He had been her teacher, but now, who was the true teacher? Him? Or her? Trip could not help but smile openly. Her, no doubt!
But what could he do? And then, did he really want to do something?
Well, come to think, he had something to do: he had to make sure to be the only pupil of so great teacher.
And… maybe even take the luxury to teach the teacher something else yet.
His anger evaporated like snow in the sun.
As well as any fatigue, any tension.
His hands snapped on the silky, naked, hips of T'Pol.
They played with the softness of her skin, while his eyes lost themselves, blissfully, in the depths of hers.
She was his lady and mistress.
And he her happy slave.
And if she looked at him like that, in that way, as she was looking at him now, who would ever longer have wished freedom?
He understood that there was only one thing, now, he could and wanted to do: playing along with her game of seduction and love. And so he did. Joyfully. Cheerfully. With love.
As his hands continued their play on T'Pol's skin, vibrating - he could feel it - under his touch, he smiled slyly at her from his lying position. "I have to improve my swimming. My action was successful only in half. You know, my sweet Vulcan, I told you, last night: I prefer you… buck naked."
It has been the matter of few moments, of a fast sequence of quick movements on the part of T'Pol which have came in succession one after other as a single, fluid, lissom, graceful move.
Her hands left Trip's chest and ran behind her back, while, at the same time, she, still well astride him, straightened her torso, putting in full evidence her buxom bosom, bursting out from under the meager cups of the bra of her "reduced by half" bikini.
Hidden from Trip's eyes, her hands bustled out behind her back for an instant and then reappeared, well raised above her head, well aloft, with, in the right, the tiny red bra, which immediately flew away, launched distant on the sand with a twist of her wrist that made it eddying in a rakish and pert gesture.
Her wonderful, florid breasts offered themselves bare to the baffled sight of Trip.
Vulcanly deadpan, but with her eyes shining mischievously and invitingly, with the corners of her lips imperceptibly curved upward, she stared at him, going on to keep her arms well lifted, so that he could freely and unimpeded enjoy the view of her bosom - of her body - buck naked.
"You mean this way, my witty Human?"
Trip has run the risk of remaining choked.
(*I've created a monster!*)
Yes, just so. He, Trip had created a monster.
In a flash it came back to his mind their first night of love, the first time she had shown herself naked to him so openly and nevertheless, in a way, so innocently. And then, right after, the first, uncertain, quip that she had made, after she and he had defeated those whores of Orion.
A monster of spirit.
A monster of seduction.
Trip drank with eager eyes and greedy the wonderful, buck naked, body of T'Pol.
His, all his.
As her heart.
As her beautiful soul thirsting for love.
As her unique spirit, reverberating of unthinkable echoes of his own humour.
But ... what a splendid monster he had created!
His covetous eyes ran all along the harmonious, appetizing, curves of T'Pol's stark naked body, whose unashamed nakedness was even more emphasized by the only trace of garment, let's call it so, she was wearing now, the bathing cap that covered her head and that made her nudity incredibly sexy and sensual, if ever it was possible that T'Pol could be more sexy and sensual than how, even unconsciously, she normally already was.
All he wanted was to be torn to pieces by such a monster, to die mauled by her claws of love, to feel sinking into his flesh her fangs of passion.
Imperceptible at first and then, quite suddenly, strong, mighty, Trip felt within himself the call of his masculine own self, just the one that had powerfully attracted T'Pol since the first moment she had met him without him knowing it at San Francisco airport, as she herself had revealed to him, and that, in her own words, had conquered her, subduing her with the irresistible, unique scent of his manhood.
Eh no! Not without a fight! As much he was eager to succumb to her wondrous arts of seduction, he could not capitulate like that! She should have paid a pledge for what she had done. Small, very small, but she should have to pay it.
(*My petite, Vulcan enchantress, now you'll see.*)
He would not have died without returning to her at least a few shots! Indeed, much more than a few!
He was still Commander Charles Tucker the Third! Called Trip! The tamer of the Vulcan females! Of that Vulcan female!
He, too, and before her, had fangs and claws! Not as deadly as hers, but he had them!
In the fight of love that she, just she, had begun, since the preceding evening, it would have been inevitably her, the final winner, but he would sell his life dearly!
Smiling amiably, he advanced with his hands along the skin of T'Pol, up, up, along her hips, slowly, softly, gently. Up to her breasts.
Trip didn't do what T'Pol expected him to do. He placed his big hands on her torso, on the smooth skin that covered her ribs, just below her bosom, a little laterally, one to the right and the other to the left, almost to embrace her minute bust with his great palms, and began to stroke smoothly her breasts at their base, with the balls of his thumbs, all along the soft curve with which they were leaning on her chest.
He saw her close her eyes, heard her sigh, felt her quiver.
(*Yes, Just this way. My claws are not as beaked as yours, but they too are able to make their mark, my seductive monster. And now…*) – His smile became a grin, as he felt her rub strongly her unclad, recondite softness against his still covered hardness, her arms now lowered, her eyes still closed, her face tense and intent, her upper body bent forward towards him, to better savour the caresses of his hands, oblivious to anything else which wasn't the sweetness and pleasure of his intimate touch, in anxious expectation of what his hands would do shortly thereafter. - (* Now the lunge of the fangs!*)
It cost him a not small effort, this was certain, both physical and mental, but if things had gone the way he wanted them to go...
The lien that Trip was about to make T'Pol pay, and that, after all, he too would have to pay a little, would have ended up bringing to… a definitely noteworthy result. He knew from experience that T'Pol loved to be brought by him to the most extreme, and, just at that moment, almost be released, to be then taken again, with stronger vigour and determination. It was a game, this, that had always paid, with her. - Trip chuckled to himself - Since their first night. And a man has to be careful of the desires of his woman, whether stated or unsaid.
So… well, his lady and mistress would not have had anything to complain about the final result of what he was about to do. And, certainly, he, less than less.
His hands stopped their warm administrations. He retired them suddenly and lowered them down on the sand, while in the meantime he gave breath to his voice. He spoke with a tone quiet and fittingly hesitant, somehow. Echoing of logical, vulcan judiciousness.
"No, T'Pol. Better that we stop."
The most splendid of the most beautiful faces that a vulcan female - a woman tout court - could show, looked at him in surprise, disappointment, despondency, bewilderment.
"Hon, in water, yes, but not here. There, there would have been no risk to be seen, but here?"
A dejected sigh answered his words.
Very well. The last lunge of fangs, now. "I do not think that I, just I, have to explain to you, just to you, the necessity, the convenience, the value of decorum."
If getting to stop himself had cost him a great effort, an even greater effort has cost to him not to smile openly, continue to maintain a serious expression and compunctious at seeing T'Pol's look, shameful and yet, at the same time, crossly, like that of a child caught with his hand in the jar of jam, aware of his fault and ashamed of it, but also angry and annoyed both at being caught out and at being prevented from performing the misdeed.
Of course, it would have seemed unbelievable to anyone but him that T'Pol, exactly she, could transcend the limits of the so-called common decency to the point not to realize it and that she could show so openly such a state of mind, such a clear, extremely significant, expression, but the fact was that no one but him knew how T'Pol, in reality, was passionate.
No one but him could understand how a Vulcan female in love could be driven by passion, could get lost , in passion.
This is the greatest gift a Vulcan woman in love could give to her man, and he was the man to whom T'Pol had made this immeasurable gift of love.
Yeah. Just like that. But... if so...
And it was so.
Trip felt ashamed in turn.
He was taking advantage, shamefully, of the fragility to which the power of the love T'Pol felt for him had delivered her. No, this was wrong. This was not the way to fight that fight of love.
T'Pol's shields, her defences, were lowered. Her love for him, her passion for him, together with the strange, unusual for her, scenario where she was, where she had to act and behave and where she had wanted to be and act and behave just in virtue of the love she felt for him, were pushing her, without her even noticing, to behaviours that she would have been able to much better handle, under normal conditions, similar to those in which she was accustomed to be, to dominate.
Trip could not allow this to happen, or, rather, he could even allow it, but he could not deceive her, play with the vulnerability she showed in those moments to such a point, only for the sake… of being Trip.
It was time to discover the cards. But ... well, however in his own way. After all, wasn't this the Trip T'Pol had fallen in love with?
The claws had been shown, the fangs had shone.
Now, no longer fight of love.
Now, only love.
What he had said, what he had not done - not yet - was more than enough to achieve the result he wanted to achieve, the outcome on which T'Pol would not find anything to complain and of which, indeed, she would be extremely happy. - Trip grinned to himself. –And satisfied.
He smiled extremely gently at her, and at the same time with an expression in some ways hazily thoughtful. "Certainly, if you think about it, it's pretty unlikely."
T'Pol pricked up her ears. Something was wrong. Talking with the colourful way her T'hai'la would do, she could sniff out this.
She felt ill-at-ease. That was a fact. She was shameful for being caught out by Trip and for having been called to order by him, who was usually the one who needed to be called to order, and exactly by her; shameful for how she was acting; and shameful, yet more, for not feeling for the way she was acting all the shame that a Vulcan like her would have to feel, not to mention the fact that... well, yes… that they, she and Trip, should stop what they were doing and what they would do thence in a few moments.
And okay, that was true. And it was more than enough to make her feel uncomfortable, just to speak not too hard. But there was something else. What the hell meant that strange statement by T'hai'la? And his tone? It was a tone of which she had learned the hard way to be wary, almost to be afraid of, though, to tell the truth, she could affirm, and with some pride, that she had also learned to give him back blow by blow, and also very well.
She straightened herself on her bust, crossing her arms over her breasts. She arched her eyebrow, looking inquisitively at Trip with an air vaguely accusatory. She felt, she was sure, that her perfidious T'hai'la had played to her another one of his trickeries, and that, somehow, he was still a little wickedly playing with her.
Her voice, low, even harsh, resounded definitely leery. "What is unlikely?"
Oh yes. Definitely something was amiss. What did it mean that sly air with which her deceitful Human started to look at her? Even crossing his hands on the sand behind his nape and propping cosily his head on them, as if they were a comfortable cushion.
She insisted. With a tone of voice a wee bit higher and rougher. "What is unlikely?"
Trip was looking at her, trying not to betray himself. Mamma mia, how she was beautiful! Since the first time he had realized how much her already stunning comeliness could become even more amazing when she got angry, trying not to show it, he had endeavoured to make her chafed. If ever it were possible, her incomparable beauty went beyond any possible description, when he was successful in reaching his goal. Now, then, positioned in the way she was, naked, with her arms crossed on her gorgeous breast, bestriding his pelvis, her eyebrow raised, with her marvellous pretty little face frowning and accusing, with that dreamful slight flushing on her cheeks which revealed her irritation...
What there could have been more beautiful?
Trip would have even been willing to submit to her vengeful Vulcan nerve pinch, just to enjoy the wonder of her beauty, when he was managing to make her angry like this!
He smiled at her, putting himself even more comfortably on the makeshift pillow of his hands. "The sun is setting, my hon."
T'Pol's eyebrow rose an inch more. "I see it. So what?"
"I think it's unlikely, very unlikely, that someone can come here now."
T'Pol's ears pricked up even more. This was pretty damn interesting. "Very unlikely?"
"Extremely unlikely. In fact, I dare say impossible."
"I think so."
"I do not understand why."
"Well, honey, this is a small beach, distant and secluded, difficult and laborious to reach. Why would anyone come here when it gets dark?"
T'Pol didn't manage not to say what came immediately to her mind. "To do..."
She stopped suddenly. It was not very Vulcan what she was about to say.
Trip smiled mischievously. "To do what we would want to do?"
T'Pol nodded. Better not say aloud that. Absolutely not too Vulcan. But it was good also make Trip understand what she meant. Although, obviously, that blackguard of her Human was perfectly aware of her thoughts and… desires on the subject.
Abandoning his imaginative pillow, Trip raised his right hand to caress T'Pol's cheek, while the other went to rest gently on her right thigh. "That's possible, babe. But I don't think this can happen." - He looked as if he was pondering for a moment. Then ... "No, I just do not think . In fact, I'm sure."
T'Pol began to feel more peaceful and… hopeful. All in all, it seemed that her man had not had any intention of playing on her any of his usual jokes. He, apparently, was really worried that the two of them - that she - could go too far. He knew very well how much she would have been embarrassed if someone had caught them out. Then, he had changed his mind, had realized that, at that time, with nightfall, no one would come to disturb them in that decidedly secluded beach, distant from full of the beach activities, long and not easy to reach.
Of course, he certainly had also wanted to play a little with her, in the sequence of his thoughts and actions, just as he used to do. He was like that and she - T'Pol sighed unconsciously, a little happy a little resigned - she loved him also because he was like that. However, it seemed that there was nothing underneath. T'Pol mentally scolded herself. Sometimes she, taught by experience, showed herself being too distrustful of her T'hai'la, too afraid that he were exaggerating with his playful character, with his mania for tricks.
Nevertheless she wanted to be absolutely sure. You never know. Her Ashayam, Trip, was still Trip. "Why? There may be people willing to come here, just because of the dark." - She dared. - "The darkness is ... friend of the lovers."
Trip looked at her in amazement. Wow! This mode of expressing herself was something he would never have expected from T'Pol, even with all the unique knowledge he had of her. Sometimes he happened to think that inside her, unknown even to her, lay concealed the most profound ocean of passion, of marvels, which roared inside her, ready to erupt at the first, right opportunity, just as it had happened now.
From the jewel-case of occult riches buried in her, another gem had flowed out, sudden.
Trip remained dazzled by its splendour. Indeed, maybe a little too much. You know, it is not easy to follow the path you decided to walk along, when your vision is dazzled by too much light. To put it more simply, it's easy to get distracted when something catches your attention so intensely. You can get confused.
You can be wrong.
"That's true, babe. But, you know, when the access road is closed so that only by swimming ..."
Trip stopped abruptly. He slapped mentally himself. (*Idiot!*)
A light bulb came on in the mind of T'Pol. "What?"
(*Oh shit! Mess made!*). Trip's suddenly alarmed expression did not escape T'Pol. Her eyebrow, which had just resumed its normal position, rose briskly again. "I repeat: what?". And the tone and strength of that "what?" have certainly been not very pleasant to hear, on the part of Trip.
Obtusely, he tried to play dumb, as his face, though, turned red and his hands, both the one on the face of T'Pol and the other on her thigh, were meaningfully staying awkwardly motionless. "What… what, Hon?"
T'Pol shook her head, chasing away his hand. That other, the left, the one that was resting on her thigh, she could feel very well that it was sweaty. And this was definitely revealing.
Now she was really angry. No, furious. But whom has he thought of teasing, her 'beloved' T'hai'la? As if she had not known him well, by now! What a joke had he played on her? What joke he was playing, to her!
Harshly and piercingly, she stared down minaciously at her man. "I mean what you meant with that 'the access road is closed' ."
"Well, but nothing! Nothing, darlin'! That is, nothing important. Believe me. Really!"
The bulb in the head of T'Pol blazed with light. She understood. Everything.
Her nostrils flared. "You brought me here quite deliberately."
"Oh, ah… well, in a sense... It is a beautiful small beach, secluded, quiet. The most recommended place to give you your first swimming lesson, away from prying eyes that could put you ill at ease. It is..."
"You were well aware of this."
"You knew this beach."
"Honey ... "
"You knew it. And I do not think I'm wrong in saying that you knew also that its access path by land" - T'Pol's voice rang decidedly upset – "is barred, with the setting sun."
"Did you know?"
"I ... I ... Yes."
"Therefore, when you have called me to respect decorum, when you pointed out to me the risk that someone might see us, you knew perfectly well that this was practically impossible."
"Did you know?"
"I ... I ... Yes."
"Eh sure, because you knew very well that no one would come here at this hour since, at this hour, it is possible doing this only by swimming."
"Did you know?"
"I ... I ... Yes."
The vulcan nerve pinch. And even more. At this point, Trip was persuaded he couldn't be able to avoid it.
His brain began to strive to find a way out.
Exactly how the brain of T'Pol, for its part, had taken to strive to try to understand how the hell she had fallen so hopelessly in love with such a rascal of a Human.
He could not afford to treat her that way, could not play with her feelings in that way, those feelings that he had managed to bring powerfully out of her Katra, just for the sake of doing it. For being ... for being so damnedly Trip. Although she loved him so much exactly because he was so. And she just did not understand how this was possible. Where was the logic in this? What kind of response would Surak have found? He would have sunk for the shame of not finding any response!
It was not an excuse for the inexcusable behaviour of her unwarrantable man the rub she had done, her irresponsible disobedience to his correct, right, request not to be reckless. It was his fault that she had done it! It was his fault if she was so! It was the fault of the love that she felt for him! She was so because he had entered into her with his whole self, with his way of being and thinking and acting! He could not think to… to punish her, that way, because she was acting like him! And… and it did not matter a... a dried fig that she, for her part, had resorted to… to… to her arts of seduction!
Those arts, too, found their prime cause in him! She had discovered an ability to exercise those arts just in grace of her love for him, of… of the jealousy he had been capable of igniting inside her, when…when he and that… that damned Corporal Cole…
So? Why on earth should she feel guilty, why on earth should he feel incensed, if she had used those arts to be forgiven by him? To sidetrack him from his not unfair anger towards her, from his intention, all in all anything but illogical, to berate her for what she had done? She was a female after all! The most female of females! He repeated it to her so often! So, what the hell had he to complain about if she was acting like such a female? The female he loved?
And then, his disgraceful behaviour came from farther away. He had engineered everything! He had it all planned out! And he had had fun at her expense, hiding from her his mischievous plan and taking ignoble advantage of the foolishness that she had committed and of her blind getting lost into… into the flame of her love passion for him. He had had fun making her feel doubly guilty!
Woe to him! Woe to him! (*Now I'll show you, my damn Human T'hai'la! Now I'll show you!*)
After the thought, after the intention, immediately came the action; rather, it has been contemporary to them. Practically by automatism T'Pol settled herself so that there could be no doubt that she was going to engulf with her dire retaliation her awfully worried Human.
She settled herself to do it with her whole being. With her heart and her mind. With her words and her expression. With the cold and fulminating twinkle of her eyes.
And. .. with body language.
Was this attitude Vulcan? Well, no. Surely no. But Whaddya Gonna Do? Too long was the time she had lived with Humans, but, above all, too long was the time - and much more than merely the time - she had shared with her indescribable T'hai'la.
She straightened her bust a little yet and, without thinking, as much she was wrathful, placed her hands on her hips, with clenched fists, in a pose openly threatening, entirely consistent with the one that her Trip would take, if he had been in her place and, in this way, she discovered again her breasts, that, because of her pose, rose up, overbearing, even more.
Her pretty little visage was turned downwards towards Trip's face, with those marvellous deep eyes of her, now frowning and scowling, glittering with barely suppressed wrath, and just for this, even more enchanting. Most likely if the tips of her gracious pointy ears could be watched, one could see that they were glowing. Marvellously glowing.
Commander Charles Tucker the Third, called Trip, forgot everything. Embarrassment, worry, apprehension ... Everything. Even what his name was. Even who he was.
All he was able to do was watch his T'Pol open-mouthed. In silent wonder.
But how the hell was it possible she was so beautiful?
Before T'Pol could blow on the trumpets, his hand snapped by its own will. With a swift movement he took off away from her, her swimming cap.
He watched her in ecstasy.
It was just so. The wonderful tips of her wonderful pointed ears were wonderfully glowing.
Nothing to do. Not even his nickname, burst out of the mouth of a T'Pol completely taken off guard, to warn, to call, to rebuke him, was enough to shake him. He merely looked at her with dreamy eyes.
A bewildered T'Pol opened by half her mouth searching for something to say that could make sense.
She could not.
Trip preempted her.
"You are wonderful, T'Pol!"
Convincingly. As if it were the word of God.
T'Pol tried to replicate, to try to say, at least in part - because she felt her anger fade, implacably - what she wanted - would have wanted - to say to him. "Trip, do not ..."
Once again she could not. The adoring voice of Trip choked her warning.
"I love you, T'Pol."
And T'Pol realized she had lost her battle.
She felt a great warmth inside, and a great desire to hug tightly her Trip, to cling to him.
To kiss him.
And so she did.
And the setting sun over the sea of gold and flame lit up with its warm light the final winner of that battle of love.
End of Chapter Two
Do you think there's need to add something, my friends?
I think not.
Judging from the image above, not at all.
Judging from the image above, not at all.
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - firstname.lastname@example.org
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - email@example.com