Two Things Are Certain, Part 4
Chapter 9
When T'Pol woke up, Jonathan was snoring quietly and leaning heavily against her. As she moved slightly, she noticed all the places his body was touching hers were now hot and sticky. Although it was early in the morning, the man had already begun to perspire … even the sheets were wet. Hoping to avoid a catastrophe like the night before, she stood up and retrieved the hypospray, touching it silently to his neck.
As the tip skimmed his skin, his body jerked awake. When his brain sparked to life, he felt exhaustion pour over him – his body had been put through the wringer; Vulcan's extreme gravity had triggered every single one of his muscles to become sore. He registered a few other ailments: tightened stomach, mental fatigue and the remnants of emotional upheaval. Wiping a bead of sweat from the side of his temple (ignoring the water trickling down his back and pooling under his arms), he bemoaned the planet.
'Vulcan,' he thought with the same condemnation he'd give to the word: hell.
And then he saw her – she was hovering beside him in her clingy blue pajamas with a near-worried expression on her face.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said in his husky morning voice.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"I've been worse," he joked. In reality, that was absolutely true: after being beaten, kidnapped and held hostage more times than he could remember, he'd been a lot worse.
T'Pol's eyes softened at his humor. "I'll come back with breakfast for us. I hope you don't expect a meal like you are used to eating."
"Now I know why Vulcans are so skinny," he beamed, looking over her frame. 'Two weeks,' he thought.
"You think I'm too thin?" she asked, getting out of bed.
Leaning up, he rubbed his hand against her exposed hipbone and grinned playfully. "I think you're perfect just the way you are. But, I wouldn't complain if you ate more."
As his hand stroked her, his body became acutely aware of what he'd already reminded it – it'd been two weeks since they'd been intimate. With newfound agility, he sat up, dangled his feet off the bed and pressed his lips against the bone in one graceful motion. To his surprise, he wasn't shooed away or scolded – instead, his girlfriend gave him a wanton stare, as if she too had missed their physical intimacy. That dangerous gaze was just the tiny bit of encouragement his libido needed.
"I thought you didn't feel well," she said. It was illogical to feel a hint of desire, but welcoming contact with him and realizing she wasn't like other Vulcans permitted her attraction … and his.
"I didn't say that," he said, allowing his mouth to continue to caress her.
But, she knew the truth – the sensations rolling off him indicated he felt amorous, not better.
"Jonathan," she reprimanded, squashing her own feelings.
"Hmmmm?" he asked, tugging her bottoms to expose a tad more of her hipbone. He suckled it, letting loose a low pant.
"Not now."
He asked a little hoarsely, "Why not now?"
"You may get worse."
Attempting to convince her to give in, his lips traced her stomach and an errant tongue dipped into her navel. He knew she wasn't too keen on it, but his mouth had been dying to dive into the button on her belly.
She took his chin in her hand and whispered, "Not now."
With a sigh, he obliged – laying back on the sheets and trying to calm his overly anxious body. Silently he wondered whether his smell and sweat had already persuaded her to deny his advances.
As if reading his thoughts, she sat on the bed and weaved her hand underneath the covers, resting it on his stomach to caress the hair at his abdomen.
"I want you, but I would like to have you," she began.
A smile crept onto his lips as she uttered the words 'I would like to have you.'
She noticed his grin and added, "… when you feel well."
"You want to know how I feel?" he asked, darkly. Taking her hand in his, he glided it down past his waist. Her eyebrow shot up in response.
"That's how I feel, T'Pol," he whispered.
"I see," she murmured.
In the months that the two had gone out, Jonathan had been wrapped up in desire, and had been sometimes suggestive, but had never been so forward. His typical tactic had been to kiss her and try to evoke lust … maybe creep a hand up her waist to tempt her, and if that didn't work … to accept that she wasn't interested. But now, his eyes were stormy and his mouth hung open by a fraction of an inch, allowing his breath to hiss as she slowly withdrew her hand.
With distraction, the Vulcan stood up and attempted to collect herself.
"I'll be back momentarily." With that, she gathered herself up and escaped.
Defeated, Jonathan's head fell against the pillow. Thinking the best he could do was ready for the day, he pushed himself up for a shower -- a cold one -- and a shave.
Chapter 10
After about forty minutes, T'Pol came back, carrying a breakfast tray. Archer was lying on top of the covers sounds asleep, dressed in shorts and a shirt. The room smelled fresher, as if he'd taken a shower and brushed his teeth; it smelled clean. She put the tray next to his bed and lay down with him; her legs intertwined with his.
Feeling her nestled against him, he yawned sleepily and threw an arm around her. She leaned up and handed him something that looked like orange juice, but pulpier.
"Drink this."
He sat up and sipped at the mixture. "That's pretty good."
"Arntha," she whispered. "It is a mixture of plants and flowers that grow here."
She handed him a bowl of something and said, "I think you will like this."
He took it in his hands and spooned a bite into his mouth. It tasted like a lentil soup. It was fairly bland, but he knew his body needed some proteins.
"Thanks," he said.
She nibbled on something, watching him with hooded eyes. Having her stare like that at him, made him gasp a little. He didn't know if she was teasing him or not, but, he definitely saw "want" in her eyes. His mind spurned the thought -- she'd already indicated she wasn't interested.
"So, what do you plan on doing for the rest of the day?"
Setting her plate down, she whispered, "I could make a few arrangements for us."
He finished the arntha and set his glass down with a light thud.
"Or, I could find other ways to spend the day," she suggested. The tip of her eyebrow flicked.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Remember the day in Tibet when we stayed in bed all day?"
That day had been incredibly romantic. It had taken a lot of coaxing for her to agree to stay in bed with him that morning and afternoon, but by evening, he didn't cajole her at all. In fact, as the day wore on she'd become not only accustomed to the idea, but intrigued by it.
He put his bowl of soup away. This meant she was definitely coming onto him.
"I thought you were going to give me a heart attack," he said.
Starting with his ankle, she kissed up the inside of his leg as his senses went into overdrive. Her lips stopped at his inner thigh. "I remember you enjoying it."
Aggressively, he grabbed her shoulders and drew her up the length of his body to kiss her lips. The two were a little nervous – it felt like it'd been a long time since their lips had touched. With the hesitation of new love, he puckered his lips and gently kissed her mouth. Feeling a little more confident, his mouth relaxed and he kissed her again. Their noses nuzzled each other's as he covered her mouth. Teasing, she backed away and almost smiled as he drew her into his arms more passionately and forcefully.
When his mouth found hers, the unfamiliarity and bashfulness were gone, and his tongue pressed between her lips with authority. Before long, their embraces were filled with sighs, moans and huffs even though their clothes were mostly on.
Adding finger touches, she wondered why this felt so incredible. This sudden change in her emotions was almost as illogical as the first time she and Jonathan made love … almost as illogical. Then and now, she felt the tsunami of desire he held for her – she felt the waves of caring, friendship and love rolling over her and felt almost powerless to stop it. In fact now, despite not wanting to push his recovery, she decided she couldn't wait any longer. Her own emotions were responding to his – she was bustling with excitement as she felt his joy wash over her.
Strangely, it had been this way all morning – watching him wake, while getting breakfast -- literally all she could think about was being with him. Her remaining self-control was eaten away at the forwardness of Jonathan's actions … especially since he was never forward. The baseness of his earlier movements made her want to rip his clothes off.
'Illogical,' she chided herself again. She'd never felt that way. 'Were they his emotions?'
She slipped her hand underneath his hair as he gave a small groan. Her craving was dampened only slightly at thinking about the sweat on his linens. Maybe they could continue elsewhere; it would give her a chance to collect her thoughts – they were almost running amok. With that, she pushed herself up and onto her feet.
Stunned, Jon watched her. In his mind, they definitely weren't finished; they'd only begun. Suddenly images popped to his mind – things he'd been dreaming of doing to her and with her. It wasn't just the act of physicality; after their argument it was important for him to be intimate with her. It just so happened in his mind intimate meant tearing her clothes from her body, kissing her passionately and with fury and ….
"Meet me in my room in ten minutes," she whispered.
He nodded slowly, leering at her as she sauntered out. It gave him just enough time to throw cool water on his face and look in the mirror – his cheeks were red and he was sweating lightly. Well, this was nothing new – he'd felt like a faucet ever since he'd arrived. He knew his body was trying to cool him down, but wished it wasn't so efficient. After pacing, clenching and unclenching his hands and watching the clock for eight minutes, he decided to knock on her door.
Seductively, she greeted him at the portal. A deep purple robe covered her tiny frame, showing off her hazel eyes. Meditation candles were lit in the background – a delicious cinnamon-like spice wafting through the room.
He thought, 'Great. More heat,' but welcomed the sensuality it seemed to bring to T'Pol.
Leaning on the door jam, he wondered whether it was seeing her or catching the scent of the spice in the air – whatever it was, it was making his mouth water … it was causing him to look at her like a man who'd been trapped in the desert for days on end looking at an oasis. She gathered his hands and led him inside as he kicked the door behind him closed with his heel.
A buzzing filled his brain – something besides the overwhelming lust, it had been there a while. It'd been there since the night he'd been contacted with the information about Ambassador V'Lar.
It was the same tingling in his mind that knew she wanted him to dart his hands down the back of her robe. And so he did, reveling in her response.
"Yes," she whispered.
Feeling the silk between his fingers, he registered an important fact right away: she was completely nude underneath. As his nose dipped against her neck, he noticed she'd scented herself -- she rarely did. The buzzing in his mind told him to run his tongue along the base of her neck and to gather perfume onto his taste buds. Sipping at her throat, he savored the liquid -- he was intoxicated on her.
Countering his movements, her hands slid under his shirt – pawing at his chest … raking his skin underneath her fingernails. Because she'd denied herself emotions for two weeks, his lips and tongue against her neck caused her to pant and lunge toward him. Parting only briefly, she pushed his shirt over his head and pulled him toward the bed.
"Oh," he moaned, thinking that was exactly what he was hoping she'd do.
Tokens of love were usually offered to her as he attempted to woo her, but not this morning. This morning, he groaned hoarsely about how much he wanted her … how he wanted to have her, and for some reason that was exactly what she wanted to hear. Scalding – his breath against her ear reminded her of walking on desert sand around mid-day.
Losing track of his movements, she felt him push the robe off her shoulder and teasingly bite it. Then, with the same torturous movements, he exposed more of her skin and flicked his tongue against it. Before they reached the bed, he pushed her against him – with greed. The same avarice coursed through her -- her teeth gnawed at his earlobe and she heard herself whisper to him, enticing him to continue.
Like a storm picking up strength, she felt him become more insistent and his motions strayed from enthusiastic to furious. As his fingers tore at the knot in her robe, he took a deep anticipating breath, parted her robe down the center and watched it hang on her frame. Crushing his lips against hers he nudged her onto the bed as he crawled over her.
The want seeped out of every pore – throwing her ordered mind into chaos, especially since his emotions were exquisitely unsafe. Every nibble, nip and bite, forced her back to arch into him and a quiet moan to escape her lips.
'This isn't rational,' part of her screamed out. She'd gone from one extreme to another – living without emotions to welcoming them hoist upon her. But, for some reason she didn't care. It was not the time for mating, but her body thought something clear and evident: it was the time to mate with him. She wanted union.
'Why?' she wondered.
"God, I crave you," he whispered.
His onslaught was unstoppable, and her willpower was depleted; she couldn't help but writhe under him and whisper with unVulcan-like acquiescence, "yes."
Dominantly, he pressed his fingers to her temple. An itch raced across his mind, encouraging him.
"My mind to your mind," he whispered, in near ecstasy.
'Jonathan,' she warned. Deep within her mind, she echoed to herself, 'He has never done this before.'
As he blew into her mind, she heard the pitter-patter of rain on the sands of the desert. Tiny darkened droplets began to spread until buckets of water poured from the lightning-illuminated sky.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if heralding a titan -- she knew that the rain was his; she knew it meant he was nearby. The rain tickled her skin and wet her hair, causing utter confusion to set in; no one had ever penetrated her inner sanctuary like this. In essence, he entered her thoughts … and did so easily … without thought to the actions.
'It can't be,' she whispered to herself, out of his reach.
Shivering, doused with water, her clothes and hair clung to her body as her eyes penetrated the storm.
'Jonathan?' she called out.
A gust of wind kicked up, as she spied a shadowy figure – he was soaked and his clothes stuck to his skin. The breeze whipped his hair, shirt and pants and his voice was like the booming of darkened clouds swirling above.
'Yes,' said the darkened figure. 'You know it's me, why did you ask?'
She avoided the question. Doubt nagged at her mind as she attempted to control her thoughts. It was happening so fast … too quickly; she tried to conjecture why.
The shade followed him to her and for the first time she saw his face. She could tell it was him mostly by his eyes – they were like a lagoon: a deep murky green. His small, thin lips were drawn loosely together as he stalked toward her.
With trepidation, she scrambled away, but was too clumsy to flee from him. Catching her, he folded her into his arms as his pupils enlarged and the skies burst.
His mind answered back, 'Let go of your control.' Possessively, he dragged them to the ground.
Endeavoring to restrain her emotions, she wiggled out of his grasp and noticed with fear a tidal wave looming in the distance.
'I have to leave,' she whispered, watching the seas encroach.
His hand seized hers and forced her arms over her head, while his mouth devoured her lips. Water rushed over them, covering them … drenching them. As she gasped for air, another wave pummeled them, spraying foam onto her. Fighting underneath him with little success, she was submerged again.
'I'm not forcing you to stay. Your mind knows what you can't accept,' he whispered, probing deeper into her mind. 'We're one.'
'This is a mistake,' she said, writhing underneath him.
Within an instant, she tried to vanquish him from her mind, but he remained in control. His words drizzled over her brain – if she wanted him to leave her mind, she could easily force him away. Her struggling had been feeble, particularly since her mind and limbs were stronger.
At that realization, T'Pol looked out onto the horizon; she could see the entire ocean speeding toward them. Scuttling to her feet to run, she felt his hand reach out and grab her arm.
'Don't resist,' he said. 'You belong to me.'
The water overtook them swiftly, plunging her to depths she couldn't imagine. His mouth covered hers breathing life into her, keeping her from swallowing water … keeping her from falling away. As they drifted down, tumbling into the sea, she realized he was taming her mind, and that she was beginning to tame his.
'This cannot be,' she claimed. 'You are human.'
As they floated into the blackness, he took her to his deepest soul and showed her every thought, memory and idea he'd ever had. She was flooded with images of him – things that she had never seen before … things no one knew, but him.
It was all happening so hastily -- she was drowning in thoughts and emotions that she couldn't understand. The information he held sacrosanct made her spasm in ecstasy. She knew everything about him and trembled at the knowledge. As she gathered all the records from his mind, he continued to plumb the depths with her.
'Human? Does that matter?' he asked. 'I belong to you.'
Blinded by darkness, the only inkling she had of reaching the very bottom was the sand that squished between her toes. The sea and the desert had merged. And here, in his inner sanctum, he was still and calm – much like she was in the desert.
So many thoughts washed over her, but one seemed prevalent and perhaps frightening: with his arms wrapped around her and his lips on hers, she felt complete. And as his mouth captured hers just once more, she knew with certainty he felt complete as well.
'You and I are one, T'Pol,' he thought. His fingers intertwined with hers.
Jon's eyes focused on her trembling underneath him, despite the heat. Taking his hand away from her temple, he noticed how alive he felt … how invigorated.
"That has not happened before," she admitted, submissively.
He laughed, "Seems like it happens almost every time we do this." He brushed his nose against hers mischievously and she gave another tiny spasm, as if to prove his point.
"No, you've never entered my mind in that manner," she panted, trying to catch her breath.
"Did you like it?" he asked, grinning. Strange – before he attached his fingers to her temple, he could almost hear her begging him to do it.
"Jonathan …?"
Very seriously, she knitted her brow, which caused an apology to launch from his throat. "Sorry, was I not supposed to?"
"Aisha …," she whispered, her eyes brimming with wonder.
"What?" he asked, thinking what just happened was incredible without really understanding it.
"You penetrated deeper than before," she said, touching two fingers along his lips.
"Your thoughts?" he asked, kissing her fingertips. Fear and love wiggled their way into his brain and ran through his body … but it wasn't his; in fact, he knew those emotions belonged to her. Rolling off of her, he gathered the covers around her and kissed her forehead as if to reassure her.
"What?" he asked, sensing she wanted to say something.
T'Pol was afraid to test her theory. 'You do not understand,' she thought.
"What don't I understand?" he asked aloud. He noticed she hadn't moved her lips, but he heard her voice distinctly. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out how that happened.
'I assume you can hear my thoughts?' she asked.
"Did you just ask if I can hear your thoughts?" he questioned, suspicious of his own mind.
"No," she corrected. "I thought it."
Wrinkles sprouted onto his forehead, as he tried to comprehend.
"I thought it in my mind."
"We're not linked anymore …," he said, lamely. It was difficult to piece together what was happening, and why this time, unlike so many others, he didn't feel quiet and reflective after their meld. Instead, he felt elated -- satisfied in his mind, body and soul.
"Perhaps this is temporary," she suggested. It was illogical that it would be more than temporary. It was impossible that the two would be able to share thoughts and feelings for longer. Well, improbable, was more accurate … highly improbable.
"What's going on?" he asked. He squinted his eyes at her, waiting for her to drop a bomb on him. And he wasn't disappointed.
"You can hear my thoughts," she whispered. "Just as I can hear yours."
"You mean now?" he asked, just wanting a straight answer.
"You want a … straight answer … I'll give it to you. Vulcans can hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of a bondmate. Although Vulcans can … mate … with other species we rarely do. In most cases, 98.9%, the species is unable to maintain a link with a Vulcan outside of a meld."
"Okay," said Archer, trying to follow her logic. He had so many questions it was difficult to select just one.
"It has been proven that humans are not telepathic. I assumed you and I would never share emotions … or thoughts … once the meld was severed."
"So, you're telling me we can share thoughts, despite not being linked?" he asked. Sensing she was agreeing, he asked, "But this is only temporary?"
"Yes. Of course," she said. With more confidence, she added, "I am certain that it is only for a short period of time. During this time, you will be more susceptible to my thoughts and emotions, and vice-versa."
"So, if it's temporary, why are you scared?" he asked, feeling concern in her mind.
She would have to better hide her emotions now that he was aware of them.
"Regardless of the permanency of this … situation, you have progressed our relationship without realizing it," she commented, turning to look at the wall.
"Progressed?" he asked, wrapping his sweaty arms around her. He gave her temple a kiss, trying to prevent her from withdrawing.
"Yes. How do you feel about me?" she asked, trying to clear her mind.
"Do you need to ask?" he questioned. Knowing for some reason she did, he said what he thought was only too obvious. "I love you."
And she could tell he meant it; he was right, she never had any doubt. She rolled over to face him.
"I … care for you deeply, Jonathan. More than I have for anyone else."
Cuddling her in his arms, he gave her a kiss on her nose. "I know."
A sigh caught deep within her throat – there was so much more to explain about the consequences of what he'd done … what she'd allowed him to do.
"Like what?" he asked, picking up that thought. Gazing over her face, she seemed so vulnerable lying reposed with a slight frown tossed on her wide, thick lips. This was hardly the Vulcan he saw on a regular basis, but in a very human and male way, he kinda liked it.
"It forces us into the next stage of our relationship," she commented, a furrow sprung between her slanted brows. Remarkably, he was taking all of the news with relative ease.
Half of his smile fell, but the gleam in his eyes was still there. "Next phase of our relationship?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Like?"
"It's difficult to explain," she said. It was in a sense, but she couldn't find the words to ask whether he'd thought about a deeper commitment. Wrapping her hands around the covers, she drew them up to her chin tightly and defensively.
Nuzzling against her, he said, "I'm committed to you, T'Pol."
Commitment – she knew he was a little afraid of marriage. He'd skirted it almost all his life. Once unwillingly, but three times eagerly, causing those relationships to come to a crashing halt. It felt peculiar to know this much detail about him.
"You feel weird knowing so much about me?" he asked. It was easy to pick up in her mind information about Margaret, Caroline, Rebecca and Sarah.
"So … marriage?" he asked.
"It's not quite marriage," she whispered. "But, it's more than what we are now."
Trying to wrestle some of the seriousness out of the conversation, he asked playfully, "Then what is it? I mean, am I supposed to meet your family or something?"
She raised her eyebrow. "Actually, yes. Undoubtedly they would want to determine whether you are an adequate suitor."
An adequate suitor? He frowned. Both of her parents were deceased, but he'd gathered she had gobs of family all over Vulcan – and they'd probably be as snooty as the ones that "greeted" them when they'd reached the planet.
Before her words could respond to his thoughts, he backpedaled. One thing was certain: he loved her. Maybe another truism was: they belonged together – whatever that meant to her – he guessed whatever prodding and poking her relatives did … whatever their grueling tests, he could do it for her.
Her mind quieted at the data. There was much to discuss – what the next step was, which relatives he'd have to meet and what tests he truly would have to endure.
"They will determine … whether you would be a suitable bondmate." Sensing he had a thousand other questions waiting, she tried to be clearer. "One of the tests, for example, would determine whether you could endure Pon Farr."
"Pon Farr?" he asked.
A trickle of thoughts was sent to him: the madness, the blood fever, the time of mating. Images of insane Vulcans desperately yearning to have sex were immediately shown to him – reminding him maybe too much of the doomed pictures he'd seen of the crew of the Vankara. He couldn't help but recoil slightly.
'Once I have entered Pon Farr, we would bond. If my family approves of you, you would be my bondmate or … lifemate.'
Without realizing it, he gulped loudly. "So, is this progression like an engagement?"
"Engagement?" she asked.
He sent her thoughts about what, as a much younger man, he'd hope to have with Margaret – flowers, a ring, a couple of parties hosted by friends, approval from relatives and finally picking out a church. With amusement, he doubted the Vulcan would want many, if any of these things, and certainly wouldn't force him to pick out china and other things two people did when they got married.
"Not like an engagement," she said. "China patterns?" she asked. As perplexed as Jonathan was about Pon Farr and Kunut Kal'i'farr, she was equally baffled about this detail.
"It's not important," he said referring to the china patterns, and maybe the engagement itself. Kal'i'farr? It was a union. Marriage. Marriage?
"Not marriage. Not yet," she said. "This thought disturbs you?"
"Well, no …," he said. What did bother him was he needed to clarify what progressed meant and why it sounded so mysterious and ominous. In truth, he'd probably be okay with whatever it was, if he could figure out what it was.
T'Pol knew this would be challenging, but had nothing to offer him. "I have explained everything I can."
"So, it's not marriage. It's not an engagement. What the hell is it?"
It was none of these things, but he didn't seem satisfied with that. "Perhaps it is like a pre-engagement."
She didn't offer any images or words; there were none.
"So, how does this differ from before?" he asked.
"It simply does," she said.
'Well that didn't help one damned bit.'
Sensing his irritation, she said, "It means you must meet my family, if you choose to."
"I'm committed to you," he said again. Well, it seemed like this was confusing to both of them. He softened a little and told her what his heart truly felt. "I love you, and if it's customary among your people to have a … pre-engagement, where I meet your family and take their tests, then so be it."
This man was completely overwhelming. Nibbling his lips, she thought Jonathan many times was too dear for words. That's probably why she loved him.
The sensation of adoration left him completely satiated. She was not a woman of sentiment – being a Vulcan – but now that he was clued into her emotions, when she let them out, their profundity stunned him. She may not be able to tell him she loved him, but she felt something akin to it. In fact, her thoughts revealed that she 'loved him very much.'
Archer looked at his watch, sitting on her bedside table. It was only noon. He wondered if T'Pol would be interested in lazing around and making love.
'I would like that,' she thought, leaning in to kiss him.
That's exactly what he wanted to hear … even if it he didn't exactly "hear" it. The only question he held was what time she would need to go to the Great Hall.
'Great Hall?' he asked himself, unsure why he knew that particular detail.
"It's what you would call V'Lar's funeral," she said.
"Ah," he felt he needed to say.
'It's tonight at 1600 hours. Perhaps we can stay like this for a few hours more?'
Maybe this sharing thoughts thing wasn't too bad. Her entreating lips met his as she thought of them entangled again. Wanton thoughts immediately formed in her Vulcan mind – she imagined him drenched with sweat and calling her name.
'Nope,' he thought, 'sharing thoughts wasn't so bad after all.'
'It does have advantages,' she agreed. With a smile in her eyes, she reminded herself they could sort out all the details, including why she'd acted so illogically before and during their embrace, later. For now, she would allow the moment to move her.
'Later's good,' he thought, as his mouth touched the tip of her ear.