Shameless, scandalous, improper, illogical...all of that and then some, and yet she found that she didn't really care. Of course, it wasn't nearly so compromising when nobody knew about it. Trip was still asleep when she slipped into the guest bed next to him, the normal quilt folded up in a chair and just the sheet draped precariously across his groin and thighs, it was fairly clear that he found the room warmer than his usual comfort level. He was not, fortunately, sweating though as she was relatively certain he would be embarrassed if he had and the odor would certainly be noticeable to her mother. Of course, there was another odor, more piquant, more distinguishable, less easily disguised and more ubiquitously identifiable should it be present in the sheets.

She wasn't supposed to have been home.

Mother...

When they had arrived she had been suppressing a building want for him she had been experiencing for hours before they had arrived in orbit above Shi'kahr. His behavior had an adequate Vulcan sensibility, staid, suppressed, stolid. As such the crew of the Khru-Hayal seemed to be utterly unaware that they were mated. But in those moments alone, in the bunk they shared he had let words do what he would not allow his body to do. The words burned into her mind, the eroticism in how he spoke them more than what was said.

She couldn't hold back her desire any longer when they arrived at the house. Her mother would be at the Science Academy...since father's death it was not uncommon for her to return to the house only long enough to meditate and take a meal before returning to the institution. With her mother away there would be nothing to stop them, to prevent them from letting their passion overflow. Vulcan appreciation of beauty extended beyond just the visual, sapid, and auditory; the bed that had occupied her room as a child and young adult had always been very soft, comfortable, and splendidly appointed.

Far...far superior to the bunk in her quarters...universes apart from the narrow, uncomfortable mattress in his.

She wanted to feel it, all of it.

The brush of those sheets across her naked flesh.

The luxuriant give of the mattress.

And the things he could do while on it...oh the things he could do...

She had lost control, she couldn't stop it anymore.

Standing the courtyard she had invaded his space, craning her neck upwards, wanting the catalyst in his lips that ignited her need, her want. She let the words out as a sigh, her confession that she needed him. His head turned suddenly, and the door opened revealing her mother, her expression confused and disapproving.

"Sa-komihn vi?" She asked of her daughter, her disapproval readily apparent.

"Be' dvin nash'veh, vu ko-fu." His words had spared her from having to answer and also had the added effect of shocking her mother. He spoke Vulcan with his characteristic twang, his pronunciation somewhat impaired by the fact, but his grammar was excellent.

Her mother cocked a brow at the human, "I had not expected that you would be the one answering a question directed at my daughter."

"I'm faster on my feet." He replied with a amused expression.

She was, indeed, flustered, her face flushed as her brain was tripping over itself trying to find a suitable reply to her mother. She was not supposed to be here, she had counted on the fact that she would be finally able to have him alone, all to herself, no one for kilometers in any direction.

"I had not expected that you would be home." She muttered to her mother, trying desperately to regain some composure.

"Clearly."

"Guv-tvi-rivak-tor vesh'lof du,?" Her mother once again directed the question at her.

"Isha, ken-tor." He once again answered in her stead, "Should I leave so you two can have this conversation without me round to hear it?"

"Who are you precisely?" The elder Vulcaness asked, flushing slightly in embarrassment and exasperation.

"Mother, this is Commander Charles A. Tucker the third of the U.S.S. Enterprise." She had finally been able to form the sentences on her own.

It took hours of on and off conversation for T'Pol to even begin explaining a rudimentary reason that he was with her. Of course, if her mother were awake now to catch her slipping into his bed she would be at square one again. His eyes fluttered as he breathed in, shifting a moment to snake his powerful arms towards her, wrapping her up in them and pulling her close to his warm body. From the sensation of his groin colliding with her hip and thigh through her pajamas as he pulled her close, she knew he was naked and found the idea more exciting.

Even asleep he knew it was her, and he mumbled her name into her hair as she leaned back into his body. Nestled into right arm, the hand resting on her left shoulder while his left hand snuck under the edge of the pajama top to rest on her stomach, the sensation of the skin of finger tips against her bare flesh causing a spark of contentment in her that bled back into the swirling inscrutability of his sleeping mind.

She reached back with her left hand, resting it against the skin of his adjacent thigh, sighing his name back to him.

He took another deep breath, and his eyes opened, waking as he registered his name being said.

"Hey, baby." He whispered the words, ever conscious that they were not alone in the house.

She rolled in his arms to face him, kissing him softly then looking into his eyes with a kind of sad desperation.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" He cooed softly, reading the need but not entirely able to put it into context.

"I wish to engage in sexual behavior." She said, her words tying to be Vulcan while her voice was fighting to be a woman.

His eyes widened a bit, becoming clearer as the revelation shocked the sleep away, his a dusting of mirth worked its way onto his face, "First of all, darlin', there are about a half dozen ways you coulda said that better."

T'Pol arched her brow, her only response.

"Like, 'make love to me' is a good one."

She kept her brow arched, "Love is an emotion."

Okay, he wasn't going to pick that fight, he felt like he knew the score anyway, "Okay then there's 'lets have sex,' which still would have been better. Or maybe, 'fuck me'. That gets a response." He grinned mischievously.

"Human profanity is illogical."

"Okay, then there is, 'wanna fool around?', that's a goodie."

"I fail to see how the connotation applies."

He could feel himself getting aroused in spite of himself, this wasn't really the time or the place for this. The very fact T'Pol had seemed to believe it was, was strange and unprecedented. He was trying to formulate what to say next...sometimes all it took was a kiss and a touch to get the idea across, it was also his personal favorite. Before he even opened his mouth, T'Pol's hand dropped to gently stroke his groin while she softly kissed him.

The one-two punch.

Double tap.

Her other hand then came to rest on his chest, her fingers curling against it.

That's not fair...

He hadn't even consciously thought about that part...the three things that, when in combination, could utterly eradicate him. This was a different animal entirely...a failure to stop drill, two to the chest one to the head, Mozambique drill, Djibouti shooty...whatever. He was putty in her hands now.

"That's cheatin' darlin'." He finally managed to say when their lips broke free for a moment.

"I believe I have made my desire known."

"Your mom is just right down the hall." He said softly.

"She is asleep."

"Might not stay that way...if we..."

"We can remain very quiet."

He reached up and stroked her cheek, arching his brows as he did so with a kind of mental defeat on his face, "Is this common for Vulcans?"

"I have no data to draw from in that regard." She paused, understanding what he actually meant, "Trip...I am a sapient mammal...I find the act of sexual intercourse enjoyable."

"So it ain't for my benefit?" He sounded skeptical.

"You were asleep."

"They say men dream about sex a lot." He countered.

"You were not."

He smirked a little, "You sure are goin' a long way to say what you're actually thinkin'."

"What am I thinking?" She challenged.

"You want me."

She closed her lips tight, her eyes giving him that vulnerable look again...cultural inhibition contradicting every action she was taking and forbidding her from saying it.

He gave her that same amused reproving look, he wanted to hear it, want the verbal codification that was so important for humans but realized she would not and likely could not give it. Actions speak louder than words, but sometimes it was nice to have verbal assurance...putting your money where your mouth was required your mouth to at least engage.

God...this had to be hard on her.

He reached down, his hand coming to rest on her side, fingers gently caressing the flesh where the pajama top had managed to work its way up, exposing her narrow abdomen. This time he leaned in to kiss her, the sheet coming away and leaving him completely exposed. There was something alluring about the sense of vulnerability. She was clothed...he was not, there-in lay a sense of defenselessness, like she was in command, the master.

He lifted himself to his hands and knees, moving to perch himself over her, looking down at her like a predator on its prey...she wasn't the master, he was...a barbarian taking his spoils. Her hands came up, narrow fingers touching his sides, the left hand playing along the scar tissue, intrigued by its texture and the realization it invoked.

He belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him...she was his prize, this barbarian human...brilliant, brutal, patient yet passionate. Warrior-scholar, scientist-killer...primal and real like the ancient Vulcans. She reached upwards with her right hand, feeling for his left ear, needing to feel the roundness of it to reassure herself of the truth. The light from T'Khut streaming in through the window silhouetted his naked form as she looked down the plain of his chest and stomach to the quite overt display of his arousal level dangling between his legs.

Her chest was heaving, taking deep breaths, almost as if the thin atmosphere wasn't enough for her. No, that wasn't it...she was losing control, he knew this drill all to well. She had dosed herself with Trellium daily for close to four months, her control still hadn't fully recovered. It was his responsibility now to keep her teetering carefully between breakdown and release; either would be to violent on their own. His right hand came off the mattress as he shifted his weight to his left, lowering to his elbow as his fingers crept down the front of her pajama pants to her upper inner thigh.

"We're gonna take this very slowly." He whispered to her.

She nodded in reply, her hands touching anywhere they could, at once inviting and repelling in a ubiquitous display of Vulcan bipolarity.


T'Pol awoke, momentarily confused as to where she was, why she could feel the sheets on this bed against the naked flesh of her pelvis. The top of her Pajamas still covered her chest, but had ridden up her body to expose her stomach and lower thoracic areas. She felt a cool viscous fluid between her legs and inside her...and the scent...it was overwhelming.

Of course...she remembered now as she felt a strange buzz of activity in her mind. Trip's semen was still inside her, a strange feeling she had not yet experienced before. In the expanse, their sexual encounters had always included almost ritualistic bathing as they cleaned each other from one another's bodies after the act. One two occasions he had used a prophylactic to avoid leaving his fluids inside her after the act of sex. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as it was over, but the place where Trip had been was now vacant. She had always assumed the speed with which he had been able to go about cleaning up after their interludes on Enterprise was out of necessity. She quickly grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her, knowing that it would be a hunt to locate her pajama bottoms in the dark room. She stepped into the hall, hearing a faint sound from the Kitchen area and made her way down the old familiar hallway to the cooking area through the sitting room and dining area. Trip was standing behind one of the counters, a pair of athletic sweat pants the only thing covering his form as he quickly and meticulously sliced gespar on a cutting board.

"Trip...what are you doing?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"It's zero four twenty eight, idn't it tradition for the guests t'prepare breakfast?" He spoke back in a hushed tone.

"Why did you not wake me?"

He smiled softly, "Yer cute when you're sleepin' darlin'."

Her eyes softened towards him, an approximation for a smile, a cue that indicated she found comfort and satisfaction in his words, the gentle adoration.

"What's with the sheet?" He asked as he meticulously cut one of the Gespar in half. along it's length.

"I could not find my pants." She replied with a candor to override the subtle embarrassment.

"Well, you might wanna hurry up and get to that...your momma just woke up."

Her eyes widened.

"Either that or you've gotta burglar breakin' in...either way that might not be the best clothin' choice, baby."

"How do you-"

"Coded for superior sensory perception, darlin'...now scoot unless you want yer'momma knowin' what we were doin'."

T'Pol craned her neck forward, "Should you not also consider further garbing yourself?"

"It's hot at hades in here, and given the reception I got yes'erday I'd kinda prefer to have breakfast fresh'n ready for th'lady of the house. Now git, unless you don't particularly care 'bout gettin' caught, in which case, drop that thing and grab me 'nother bowl."

T'Pol sighed, then turned and began heading for the room so she could locate her discarded garment. She was just about to make it to the door when she froze in her tracks, her mother's brow climbing.

"I am certain Commander Tucker is not accustomed to all aspects of Vulcan tradition, it is excusable that he not rise to assist with the preparation of breakfast."

No use trying to misdirect or lie when it would be found out in moments.

"Commander Tucker is already preparing breakfast." T'Pol squeaked.

"Then why are you entering the room in which he slept?"

"I am going to retrieve a shirt for the commander, the temperature is warmer than to what he accustomed so he deigned not to wear one."

"I see." her mother replied with a nod, "And what is the purpose of having the sheet wrapped around your waist?"

T'Pol felt herself flush involuntarily...not that she ever voluntarily flushed, even when she enjoyed the sensation it was not deliberate. She considered letting it all out...telling her exactly what happened in all its unvarnished, lurid, wonderful, fulfilling, enchanting glory. The words were primed...ready...she could say them with no shame at all...except there was shame and instead of declaring, Mother, commander Tucker and I are lovers, prior to his rising to prepare the morning meal we engaged in sexual congress and I was unable to locate all of my clothing.

But instead...

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. Unbearable, shamed silence.

Her mother said nothing further, just stared back at he daughter, her eyes saying she knew what had happened...and they did not approve one bit.

"I see." She finally said, then stepped past, leaving T'Pol scrambling for words mentally, she felt the need to beg...plead in Trip's favor, but she couldn't say a word before that wordless disapproval.

T'Les entered the kitchen considering what she would say, how she would phrase her disapproval, how she could ask him politely to leave without her anger boiling forth. When she caught sight of him it took a moment for her to mentally adjust to the fact that she was not looking at the back of her late husband. This human was certainly taller, broader in shoulder and chest, but the musculature; the tone and definition, the tell-tale strength that lay there was undeniable. Memories of fingers on skin...when making love with him or performing neuro-pressure, the familiarity and comfort she took in touching him reawakened the dull ache of longing she felt for her dead mate.

He turned, pouring a small amount of oil from a decanter into a pan, "Muhl gad-keshtan sanoi."

His appearance had managed to distract her from her initial anger by eliciting the overriding sadness that having lost her mate still caused her. His greeting was polite, not necessary or expected among Vulcans but to wish one a good morning was suitable human and a fulfilled the role of respecting one's host.

"My understanding of human speech is sufficient to carry on a conversation." She said, her voice slightly choked by the emotions she was having a hard time suppressing while still tired from rising.

"I apologize for my...uh...appearance...I'm just not quite accustomed to the heat here bein' this persistent."

"What do you mean?" She inquired, his comment had been disarming, the issue with the persistent nature of the heat was odd.

The oil in the pan sizzled and she watched as he deftly lifted, one at a time, four halves of gespar cut along their length and set them flat side down in the pan. The sizzle intensified as the juicy fruit flesh came into contact with the hot metal of the cooking vessel. "Well, ya see, ma'am, I'm from a pretty hot state m'self...and I did some time trainin' at Twenty Nine Palms and have been on some pretty arid worlds...but most of the time it cooled off at night. Guess I wasn't expectin' Vulcan to stay hot all day and all into the night."

The aroma coming from the gespar was intriguing, enough to make her forget that he had touched the fruit with his hands to lower it into the pan. He quickly turned his attention to the cutting board where he was quickly and deftly cutting a yon-savas into small cubes and quickly scraped the contents into a bowl with the edge of the knife. His movements were confident, practice, with a hint of flourish and bravado to them, it seemed he knew his way around a kitchen. Lifting the pan he plucked the gespar halves from the still steaming surface with a pair of tongs and placed them on a plate, and poured the contents of the bowl into the same pan. As it went in, she spied the yon-savas and pla-savas with the pulpy juice of a sash-savas which immediately started a low grumbling hiss in the hot pan.

"I believe it is logical that one should prevent themselves from overheating by whatever practical means." She finally replied, she was willing to let his dress and even the fact that he had handled the fruit go, but... "What I find questionable is your behavior towards my daughter."

He did not seem to react, just frowned as he stirred the fruit in the pan with a wooden spoon, "I 'spose that would be somethin' to take issue with."

She arched a brow, "You make no attempt to deny it?"

"I was raised not t'tell a lie, ma'am." He arched his own brows, "doesn't mean I always behave the way I was raised but when it matters, best policy is just t'be honest 'n take yer lumps."

"Do you intend to explain yourself?"

He picked up the plate with the seared gespar, sprinkling a small amount of salt on the fruit then putting the plate in the stasis unit and turned back to the pan, stirring the contents slowly once again, his face and neck reddening, "Not sure what there is to explain, ma'am, the conclusion is pretty much fore-gone."

"You could explain why you did it." She said evenly.

He looked further away, "I guess you could just say that humans are as lousy as our reputation suggests." He paused, took a deep breath, "I'll take my leave just as soon as I've got breakfast finished."

"No!"

T'Les turned to see her daughter, now dressed in the pajama bottoms standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Her face was distraught, eyes wide.

"It's only right, darlin', this is your momma's house."

"Then I will come with you." T'Pol declared emphatically.

T'Les turned to face her daughter, "T'Pol, you heard his words."

"I wanted what he did to me, I asked him to do it, he tried to convince me it was not appropriate." She fired back, her emotions penetrating her control.

"That's enough a'that, darlin'. I knew the score, time I paid the piper."

"Does my daughter speak the truth?" The older woman inquired, looking at the human with brows arched.

"Neither here nor there, ma'am. I knew better and it's yer house so you get t'make the rules." He replied evenly, stoically, as he stirred the pan's contents, steam rising from the fruit inside, liquid reducing for the purpose of creating a sauce of some sort.

T'Les looked at the human male critically, his behavior was respectable, as was his deference towards her as lady of the house. Still, the sexual behavior was disturbing, especially considering her daughter's betrothal. During pon farr it could be excused if she was forced to seek sex from another male, but with a human and doing so for purpose of recreation or personal...

Koss would be incensed, she was certain of that.

"Do you intend to return to Earth?" T'Pol asked the commander.

"Dunno, figured I might go ahead and see the sights then head on back to LaGrange two...'spose they could use a competent engineer on hand."

"I do not wish to remain here without you, Trip." She countered, hands clamped behind her back, brooking a look of ire from her mother.

"That is out of the question...it is long past the time you should have completed the kal-i-farr with Koss."

Trip remained silent, turning the burner off on the stove and pulling the braised gespar out of the stasis unit, transferring it to a pair of plates then spooning the contents of the pan onto the slightly chilled gespar flesh. He placed one of the plates before T'Les, then another further down the counter looking to T'Pol then gesturing towards the plate with his head. She returned his look with incredulity, her expression almost begging him to argue against her mother's assertion.

"Eat yer breakfast, darlin'." He said softly.

"What about your meal?" T'Les inquired.

He wiped his hands on a towel then placed it on a rack near the counter, his voice was calm, frank, not at all what T'Pol expected given the situation. "I can see that you ladies have some things that y'all need to discuss. I'll just go ahead and get packed and make arrangements for transport to camp Kelly, 'spose they could probably use a grease monkey around the garrison for a couple'a days, the Revenge'll be makin' the hop back in about four days so they can arm up for the run out to task group Deguello."

He paused, "Will...I see you at LaGrange two?"

The confidence in his voice died suddenly when he considered that this might be the end of it all. He hated the idea, but was prepared to accept it as just part of the nature of the universe.

"You will see me before that, I will accompany you to Camp Kelly and seek passage aboard the U.S.S. Revenge as well." She looked at him with fiery determination in her moue, her voice emphatic.

"Don't be silly, darlin'. You have an obligation, it's only fair you settle this one way or another." His words were velveteen, warm and affectionate. T'Les could sense his adoration from the words alone, his body language, the genuine way in which he spoke them. But underneath it all she could sense his terrible sense of loss. "Eat your breakfast, baby."

"You should heed the commander's advice, T'Pol."

Her daughter stared at her with no small measure of despair and anger on her face. Her ability to control herself had always been taxed to the limit by her parents, she abandoned it more quickly in their presence. T'Pol's father had, at times, pandered to the affectation, and had subsequently manage to elicit the reactions far less prevalently. T'Les was not beginning to wonder that if her daughter's reactions were not because they were, in fact, so similar. While T'Les did a superb job of suppressing her emotions, she knew they still consumed her. Her husband had been, at times, overtly passionate and had strained her capacity for restraint many times. Such was the nature of their bond that she had enjoyed the mercy of being able to simply let go and let his own passions wash over here and her own were caught up the current.

More than one morning she had entered this very kitchen to the sight of her husband's shirtless, and on a few titillating occasions, utterly unclothed, form preparing breakfast. Her memories of him still burned, still ached, the wound had not and likely would not ever heal. Part of the reason she had avoided remarrying was out of realization that no mate would ever be more than a pale shadow of what she had lost. Of course, there was a logical reason for her Solan's passionate nature, his family descended from one of a small group of clans that elected to remain behind during the awakening despite their unwillingness to accept logic. Passion had been stifled and suppressed among his small sectarian culture, but never snuffed out. They made pretense at being Vulcan, or rather, acting like what Vulcan considered to be correct, but they still married for love, among their own they did not hide their feelings. They were the original V'Tosh Katur, fiery blooded like the Vulcans of ancient times. Their angers burned brighter, passions hotter, and their love was more soothing than cool water in the desert.

"I understand your feelings, daughter." T'Les said evenly, a new softness in her voice, "But obligations must be discharged, it is our way."

"I will not be separated from him. We are katra tel-tor."

T'Les turned to face her daughter, "Do not make that assertion lightly."

"I have known for some months now, he is k'hat'n'dlawa."

"A will summon a priest...if this is true..." T'Les sounded mystified, her voice constricted by the weightiness of her daughter's confession.

"How about both of you eat your breakfast." Tucker interjected.

"Commander Tucker, my daughter's assertions are...weighty. It is logical that you remain until a priest can be summoned to determine if their is credence to her claims."

He nodded, slowly, evenly at that, "Yes ma'am, that makes sense.." her mood abruptly changed, "but for now, it would make more sense if you ladies...ate...your...breakfast."

Something about his tone did not allow for further debate. Without further comment she lifted the tines next to the plate and cut off an edge of the braised Gespar the dark colored sauce reduction with chunks of fruit still in it coating it like a glaze. She was not prepared for the flavor and was momentarily surprised by how vivid it was. The process of searing the fruit had managed to bring out more of the natural sweetness while the barely perceptible hint of salt further compounded the tanginess in the fruit's natural acidity. It was pleasing, she had never experienced savas prepared in such a way.

"Commander Tucker...are you are skilled in repairs as you are in the kitchen?"

Tucker folded his arms across his bare chest, "That depends on whether you hate mah cookin' or not, I 'spose."

T'Pol similarly cut free and edge of the Gespar, spearing a few pieces of the cubed savas and running the slice of gespar in the reduction before lifting it to her lips. Her eyes went wide and she turned her face to Trip's. He furrowed his brows, mouthing the words, That bad? to her. She shook her head slowly, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.

"I would say you are more than adequate in that regard." T'Les replied.


[!-Author's Note-!]

Just to clarify, I write these as they come to me, which means the order is not necessarily going to be chronological, it will skip all over. Also, good news for the TCD and Battletech crowd, I'm finally clearing the "I can't figure out how to finish this damn chapter" block.