A Woman in His Life
Chapter 22 Reunion
By Penmom
(1) These characters aren't mine; I just play with them. (2) This is AU season 3. (3) SNOW DAY! (4) This is probably R for this chapter only - be warned! (5) Feedback, please. I'm shaky on romance.
She has never experienced something so desolate, something so devastating. Her mind is so fractured that she cannot even begin to identify the cause of her pain. She is simply trapped in misery. She is dying, she knows this much. The pain, the loss of some integral part of herself is killing her.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
Phlox rechecks T'Pol's vitals one more time as she lies on one of the beds in sick bay. She is conscious but not coherent and her body temperature is elevated by several degrees. Given her stats, he decides not to attempt to placate her system with additional synthetic endorphins. It simply goes against his better judgement.
Though, looking at her in such a state causes him to reconsider his hand in the matter. After all, he thought the pair would get along famously but here they are --- both suffering incredible pain due to their connection - a connection that he, himself, had encouraged. Each was so isolated in his or her own way - it seemed that they could truly help the other ---
He is roused from his contemplation as two Ensigns push Commander Tucker through the sick bay entrance on a gurney. If anything, Commander Tucker appears to be further gone than T'Pol as his body rocks with seizure-like jerks.
Phlox acknowledges to himself that he is certainly in uncharted territory at this point. Having already reviewed any possible approach to stabilizing the pair, he goes with his gut and quickly moves Commander Tucker directly beside of Sub Commander T'Pol.
He reaches out to Tucker and is stunned by the heat he is generating. Whatever his temperature, it would surely cook a human's brain but alas, Trip is no longer human in the true definition of the word but some sort of Vulcan-human hybrid.
Shaking himself from his regrets and misgivings, Phlox takes Tucker's hand and places it in T'Pol's own. He clasps their hands together in much the same way that his Priest did at each of his weddings. Their only hope is for their systems to recognize the other and draw back from the brink of collapse. The cure is more metaphysical than medical in the strict sense of the word. But Phlox is humble enough to allow for the fact that the outcome is well beyond his simple art.
With one more squeeze of the joined hands, he quickly notes that Tucker has calmed a bit. Taking it as a sign of optimism, he turns. Once out he punches in a lock on the main door to sick bay. No one will be allowed to enter except for him for the next three hours. It is now up to them to save themselves.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
Though his pain and confusion, something rouses him. It is a scent - an elusive but familiar scent. It pulls at him. It pulls him up through layers of incoherent restlessness. As he focuses upon the scent, other parts of his body begin to tense, to rouse. Slowly his focus shifts from the exotic scent to his heartbeat as it pounds through his erection. It is as if all of this pain and loss is now translated into one horrendous need.
His body does not seem to be able to respond in any way to provide him with release and still the scent permeates his brain. In frustration, his body tenses. He realizes that he is holding something in his hand.
Long seconds pass before something shifts into place through his fever. His mate, she is both his tormentor and his savior. Confusion reins, as he wonders why she will not come to him. Instinctively, his brain reaches out but no words come. Only raw need radiates from him.
She moans. The sound encourages him to fight on, to seek control of his shaking limbs so that he can claim her. Her hand leaves his own and he growls in protest.
He has no time to mourn the loss before he is rewarded with her return. He senses her own need and acquiescence. Feelings and desires as basic and primal as the messages he is sending to her.
She slides over his body to straddles his pounding erection. He struggles to open his eyes and finds her above him, grinding into him, her eyes closed, her dark hair wet with sweat. He cannot help but buck his hips up to meet her thrusts. She lets out a wild cry at the contact.
They struggle together on the small cot, each becoming more and more frustrated at the layers of cloth separating them. His want overpowers his physical weakness and he raises his hands to claw at the offending garment covering her sex.
His efforts fail to tear the fabric but his touch ignites her even further and she arches her back as she falls into orgasm.
As soon as she begins to come, her pleasure radiates out of her and directly into his own heated mind. Her pleasure triggers his own and despite the fact he is not where he wishes to be, he falls with her.
With their shared pleasure comes some organization to their thoughts, some small relief from their pain. He feels stronger, he feels ready to take her, as he desires, as he must.
In one swift move, his hands lock under her arms and lift her to a standing position as he stands as well. He pushes her backward with his body until she can go no further. Eyes open but unseeing, he brings his hands up to the neck of her garment and rips. Before the rags fall to her waist, he pins her body to the wall, his hands on her shoulders.
His mouth descends to worship her breasts - pulling, tugging, licking at her until her own arms push at the back of his head silently imploring for more contact. When he concedes and suckles her into his hot mouth, she comes again, her head falling back against the wall.
Once more, he shares her pleasure but fights against joining her, a part of his brain reminding him that he must be inside of her to plant his seed. As she catches her breath, he rips at his own clothes.
Soon enough, she is helping him. He lifts her against the wall while she is still pushing down his suit with her feet. Without further preparation, he drives into her with incredible force. Her body welcomes him, her heat scorching him. His release comes at once and he finds himself flying through her mind.
In tandem, their bodies slide to the floor. Hearts pound as sweat rolls off their bodies. It is as if a light has come on, a warm, all encompassing light. Speech seems too much of an effort - an unneeded effort, as they bask in a reunion of body and soul.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
By the time Phlox has checked out the Captain, provided him with a detoxification treatment and given Hoshi and Malcolm health checks, almost two hours have passed. He has welcomed the tasks and has avoided checking back in with T'Pol and Mr. Tucker. Now, in his quarters adjacent to sick bay, he closes his eyes and pushes the comm button.
"Hello? Commander Tucker? Sub-commander T'Pol? Phlox here. Are you there?"
He releases a breath as he hears a response.
"We're here Phlox, but if ya' don't mind, will ya' give us another minute?"
Joy clearly evidenced in his voice, Phlox answers, "Most certainly, Commander. I take it, you are well? Is there anything I can do for you --- either of you?"
This time T'Pol answers. "Yes, thank you. Can you please direct us to your additional store of garments, it seems that we are in need --- of --- our uniforms have sustained some damage."
With an even boarder smile, Phlox answers, "Certainly Sub-commander, third closet to the right of the last bunk."
Ahhh yes, perhaps he was correct after all.
TBC
Chapter 22 Reunion
By Penmom
(1) These characters aren't mine; I just play with them. (2) This is AU season 3. (3) SNOW DAY! (4) This is probably R for this chapter only - be warned! (5) Feedback, please. I'm shaky on romance.
She has never experienced something so desolate, something so devastating. Her mind is so fractured that she cannot even begin to identify the cause of her pain. She is simply trapped in misery. She is dying, she knows this much. The pain, the loss of some integral part of herself is killing her.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
Phlox rechecks T'Pol's vitals one more time as she lies on one of the beds in sick bay. She is conscious but not coherent and her body temperature is elevated by several degrees. Given her stats, he decides not to attempt to placate her system with additional synthetic endorphins. It simply goes against his better judgement.
Though, looking at her in such a state causes him to reconsider his hand in the matter. After all, he thought the pair would get along famously but here they are --- both suffering incredible pain due to their connection - a connection that he, himself, had encouraged. Each was so isolated in his or her own way - it seemed that they could truly help the other ---
He is roused from his contemplation as two Ensigns push Commander Tucker through the sick bay entrance on a gurney. If anything, Commander Tucker appears to be further gone than T'Pol as his body rocks with seizure-like jerks.
Phlox acknowledges to himself that he is certainly in uncharted territory at this point. Having already reviewed any possible approach to stabilizing the pair, he goes with his gut and quickly moves Commander Tucker directly beside of Sub Commander T'Pol.
He reaches out to Tucker and is stunned by the heat he is generating. Whatever his temperature, it would surely cook a human's brain but alas, Trip is no longer human in the true definition of the word but some sort of Vulcan-human hybrid.
Shaking himself from his regrets and misgivings, Phlox takes Tucker's hand and places it in T'Pol's own. He clasps their hands together in much the same way that his Priest did at each of his weddings. Their only hope is for their systems to recognize the other and draw back from the brink of collapse. The cure is more metaphysical than medical in the strict sense of the word. But Phlox is humble enough to allow for the fact that the outcome is well beyond his simple art.
With one more squeeze of the joined hands, he quickly notes that Tucker has calmed a bit. Taking it as a sign of optimism, he turns. Once out he punches in a lock on the main door to sick bay. No one will be allowed to enter except for him for the next three hours. It is now up to them to save themselves.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
Though his pain and confusion, something rouses him. It is a scent - an elusive but familiar scent. It pulls at him. It pulls him up through layers of incoherent restlessness. As he focuses upon the scent, other parts of his body begin to tense, to rouse. Slowly his focus shifts from the exotic scent to his heartbeat as it pounds through his erection. It is as if all of this pain and loss is now translated into one horrendous need.
His body does not seem to be able to respond in any way to provide him with release and still the scent permeates his brain. In frustration, his body tenses. He realizes that he is holding something in his hand.
Long seconds pass before something shifts into place through his fever. His mate, she is both his tormentor and his savior. Confusion reins, as he wonders why she will not come to him. Instinctively, his brain reaches out but no words come. Only raw need radiates from him.
She moans. The sound encourages him to fight on, to seek control of his shaking limbs so that he can claim her. Her hand leaves his own and he growls in protest.
He has no time to mourn the loss before he is rewarded with her return. He senses her own need and acquiescence. Feelings and desires as basic and primal as the messages he is sending to her.
She slides over his body to straddles his pounding erection. He struggles to open his eyes and finds her above him, grinding into him, her eyes closed, her dark hair wet with sweat. He cannot help but buck his hips up to meet her thrusts. She lets out a wild cry at the contact.
They struggle together on the small cot, each becoming more and more frustrated at the layers of cloth separating them. His want overpowers his physical weakness and he raises his hands to claw at the offending garment covering her sex.
His efforts fail to tear the fabric but his touch ignites her even further and she arches her back as she falls into orgasm.
As soon as she begins to come, her pleasure radiates out of her and directly into his own heated mind. Her pleasure triggers his own and despite the fact he is not where he wishes to be, he falls with her.
With their shared pleasure comes some organization to their thoughts, some small relief from their pain. He feels stronger, he feels ready to take her, as he desires, as he must.
In one swift move, his hands lock under her arms and lift her to a standing position as he stands as well. He pushes her backward with his body until she can go no further. Eyes open but unseeing, he brings his hands up to the neck of her garment and rips. Before the rags fall to her waist, he pins her body to the wall, his hands on her shoulders.
His mouth descends to worship her breasts - pulling, tugging, licking at her until her own arms push at the back of his head silently imploring for more contact. When he concedes and suckles her into his hot mouth, she comes again, her head falling back against the wall.
Once more, he shares her pleasure but fights against joining her, a part of his brain reminding him that he must be inside of her to plant his seed. As she catches her breath, he rips at his own clothes.
Soon enough, she is helping him. He lifts her against the wall while she is still pushing down his suit with her feet. Without further preparation, he drives into her with incredible force. Her body welcomes him, her heat scorching him. His release comes at once and he finds himself flying through her mind.
In tandem, their bodies slide to the floor. Hearts pound as sweat rolls off their bodies. It is as if a light has come on, a warm, all encompassing light. Speech seems too much of an effort - an unneeded effort, as they bask in a reunion of body and soul.
&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&*(&
By the time Phlox has checked out the Captain, provided him with a detoxification treatment and given Hoshi and Malcolm health checks, almost two hours have passed. He has welcomed the tasks and has avoided checking back in with T'Pol and Mr. Tucker. Now, in his quarters adjacent to sick bay, he closes his eyes and pushes the comm button.
"Hello? Commander Tucker? Sub-commander T'Pol? Phlox here. Are you there?"
He releases a breath as he hears a response.
"We're here Phlox, but if ya' don't mind, will ya' give us another minute?"
Joy clearly evidenced in his voice, Phlox answers, "Most certainly, Commander. I take it, you are well? Is there anything I can do for you --- either of you?"
This time T'Pol answers. "Yes, thank you. Can you please direct us to your additional store of garments, it seems that we are in need --- of --- our uniforms have sustained some damage."
With an even boarder smile, Phlox answers, "Certainly Sub-commander, third closet to the right of the last bunk."
Ahhh yes, perhaps he was correct after all.
TBC
