Two Things Are Certain

Part Five

Mt. Selaya was a popular pilgrimage site – besides providing some of the most spectacular views of Vulcan (including canyons and a view of Shi'Kar), something the inhabitants themselves didn't find particularly appealing, it housed the Great Hall: the destination of the greatest Vulcan katras. Some of the most brilliant minds in Vulcan's history were located there -- Surak (the father of Vulcan logic), T'Val (the first leader after Surak and one of his greatest followers), San (the founder of the Kolinahr) and many other names she'd read about in the annals of Vulcan history.

Overwhelming.

It was beyond incredible that she was asked to this place – a building she'd never seen … a building so sacred that its picture wasn't in any Vulcan database, it's visage never displayed. The word – its character -- was awarded a sacred symbol and referred to only with the utmost reverence by the most devout Vulcans. This place was a shrine.

Two columns of twenty torches led to the door of the mausoleum and shed just enough light to see the gargantuan statues that guarded the temple – Surak and his wife T'Pana. Their hands were crossed over their chest – the Vulcan sign of death – but their eyes remained wide open as if they could see all who entered. T'Pana's face contained more expression, one of welcome. Surak's face was stoic, but seemed only slightly stern, as he looked into the distance to guard the most honored katras. It was a legend that his face embraced only the purest of logic (like a father).

Approaching the great steps, she gazed over the edifice. Time … centuries upon centuries … had aged its outside – the sand-colored walls were darkened and tattered in areas, but the building's beauty and glory remained untouched. As the moons slipped over the horizon and Vulcan's suns ascended to their slumber, she sucked in the cool, mountain air.

Before stepping through the enormous stone doors that loomed before her, T'Pol gathered her long black cloak around her (dark colors were apparently formal color to Vulcans as well), propped the hood up over her head, straightened the Vulcan symbol pinned to the chest of her garment and took another deeper breath. It was peculiar that now, T'Pol mused, one of Vulcan's most rebellious and emotional offspring was about to enter. Ironic really, she thought to herself.

Turning her head slightly behind her shoulder, she watched over the city – specks of white coming alive in each house, and then settled her eyes ahead to see the moons casting a shimmering glow onto the tomb and the faces of two Vulcan leaders who brought her people into enlightenment. There was majesty in the moment.

Overwhelming.

Being with humans helped her appreciate beauty – especially beauty found in small moments. With a smile in her eyes, she thought this was one of them and secretly wished Jonathan could see this with her.

Jonathan.

Temporarily sharing thoughts with Jonathan was difficult and left her own thoughts unfocused … probably due to his mind's constant chatter. It continually asked itself questions and made comments as new data entered the brain, which rumbled now in her mind. He thought about inane and trivial matters such as, "Hmm – the Vulcans don't seem to have very many pages about their own families and yet banquets made up somewhere around one thousand pages. I wonder why they don't have information about their families in the database. Humans would. Humans would have a lot of information about their own families provided to other species. It seemed that Vulcans value appearances more than …."

It couldn't be just Jonathan's brain; of all the humans she'd encountered, he was the most logical. His mind was keen and his thoughts, at least to those who observed only his actions, seemed focused. Seeing into Trip's thoughts, when their minds were sporadically linked months ago, she noted they were more scattered and his voice less pronounced than Jonathan's. Perhaps she should be thankful she did not share constant temporary thoughts with the engineer – it would undoubtedly be taxing.

Humans' brains, she decided, were continuously seeking answers and knowledge, without taking the time to properly ponder the questions and digest the information they'd received. They were erratic, unfocused and undisciplined, zooming from topic to topic with only a thread – the width of a human's hair – that connected them. She'd need to depart more than just the rudimentary skills she'd left him with; she still heard his thoughts wane in and out, like a communicator on the fritz.

'We're able to sort through the … mind chatter,' he answered her, having heard her thoughts about him.

Teasingly she replied, 'It's a wonder your species evolved at all.'

With something she guessed was a chuckle, he came back with, 'Actually, I think it's how we evolved. Humans, millions of years ago, had a lot of predators.'

'Hmmm ….'

Without saying more, she forced her thoughts to become more remote and reflected on him in general. Besides his … noisy thoughts … she could feel something else from him on an almost continual basis: desire. And just thinking about it made her head spin for a moment as if that lust belonged to her and emanated from her. Taking a hand to her temple and pushing a lock of hair back, she reflected on how passionate he'd been over the course of the last few weeks. The night that she discovered V'Lar had perished, he seemed almost eager to break down all her mental barriers with this … hunger.

Probably the most concerning part was – she'd enjoyed it. Immensely. For all her fighting to keep his mind from enveloping hers and discouragement for a more amorous embrace, she had to admit that she hadn't wanted him to hold back at all. Instead, she'd wanted him almost continually. She wanted to stay entangled his arms, have his lips travel up her neck and even in their last encounter nearly begged him for more. It merely seemed that he responded to her.

And even in the week she'd secluded herself, she ignored a tiny voice that wanted him. Badly. That thought sparked something more dangerous.

'What's happening? Perhaps ...?'

"I trust Archer is well," said a familiar voice, interrupting her mind.

Jumping back in the moment and she noticed her former superior, Ambassador Soval, walking toward her draped in a cloak of midnight with golden runes on his cloak sewn on the front.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed ghostly figures draped in black floated past and up the stairs to the Great Hall -- dignitaries, friends and relatives of V'Lar. The giant stone doors of the Great Hall creaked open – permitting attendees' entrance.

"He is," she said.

"It is unfortunate your liaison has been uncovered," he said, evenly.

Giving only the faintest hint of a frown, she nodded in agreement.

"There are Vulcans here tonight who attended the banquet."

Her eyes met the ground.

"There was some discussion about your impropriety, T'Pol."

"As the captain's first officer, I am primarily responsible for his …."

"As his first officer, or … ne-tor'ashaya?" he asked, coolly. Seeing her response – wide eyes – he added, "I don't believe that, but they do."

"Their classification of my relationship does not concern me," she said. The word Soval used was base – taking the non-Vulcan ideal of love and giving a soiled context to it … dirtying it. Ne-tor'ashaya was lurid and seedy like one who only engaged in the act of sex.

Furrowing his brow by millimeters, he looked on with care at his former protégé. "Regardless," he said. "I think it best you do not come into the Great Hall tonight."

A prickling feeling worked down her spine … and for a moment she sensed Jonathan becoming aware of her argument with the Vulcan. With difficulty, she forced his noise from her mind and continued.

"You would ask me not to attend the rites as V'Lar requested?" she asked.

The Vulcan leaned in closer than he ever had before. Although his eyes remained steely, his voice softened only minutely. "The ambassador's family is not as … liberal as she was. They have requested you do not enter."

A furrow knitted between her brows. "But, it is my right as a Vulcan to attend. V'Lar herself …."

Holding a hand in front of him, he silenced her. "Out of respect for her family, I hope you choose not to enter."

Although Vulcans never made "a scene," their version of the cold shoulder was more lethal and would reverberate for years to come … and would cost her family their reputations. By entering the mausoleum, she knew they would suffer.

"I have … arranged … for the ceremony to be held for you in private," he said.

T'Pol's eyes met his.

"V'Lar's family permits this?" she asked.

"They preferred not to be … associated with you. Attending the Great Hall alone, without the presence of other Vulcans, allows them to maintain their honor," he said.

Associated was not the word he wanted to use. V'Lar's family had stormed (as much as Vulcans could) into the Vulcan High Command and demanded that T'Pol not sully the Great Hall with her presence. As T'Pol's mentor, and a friend of her family, he risked his own name to strike this bargain. But, he knew it was one that both parties would agree to – a negotiation that was sure to appeal to both sides. After all, he was a trained diplomat and ambassador; settling disputes between Vulcans was far easier than doing so between his species and Andorians or Earthlings.

With defeat, T'Pol asked, "May I come here in four days? Or will the priest have performed the ceremony?"

Soval with moderate relief, folded his arms into his garb and agreed to the date.

"You may come then, T'Pol."

As she turned to walk away, he cautioned, "Your relationship with Archer is putting you in a precarious position …. The High Command does not want to hear of further improprieties between the two of you."

Her mouth hung ajar to rebel, when he continued. "It is best you do not discuss your relationship in the open."

Quietly, she countered, "What if we have entered the first phases and are telik?"

An eyebrow jumped against his forehead and his eyes narrowed. "You are united?"

Normally matters like this weren't discussed with non-family, but she needed to explain her behavior – her relationship wouldn't vanish over night. She was now committed to it and introducing Jonathan to her family.

With silent clarity, her eyes gave him an affirmation.

His arms left his robes and his hands locked behind his back. "Only family will know?"

"That is my intention."

"And if he does not meet the challenges?"

"I will ask him to return to the ship."

"Does he know this prohibits your relationship?"

"No," she whispered. She didn't want to think about that possibility. "But, if he meets the challenges …?"

"If your family approves, the High Command has no reason to object," he replied.

Drawing his cloak to his neck, he watched the last of the attendees enter the Great Hall. He knew Vulcans could be snobby people, and watched as many pointedly ignored the young woman in front of him. It was something, that no thanks to his many years on Earth, he actually disliked about his own race … which was why he stayed by her side until the last possible moment. Because of his age, his reputation was not important and could be dismissed as the wanderings of an old man. Vulcans afforded more respect and allowances for the elderly. His lifespan was firmly on the scale that leaned toward dead – it enabled him to throw his head up in the air and continue talking with one of his brightest pupils. As he stared down at the young woman, he silently wished her all the logic, life and prosperity that one of Vulcans most rebellious children could receive … and then some. His hand made the "V" of welcome, care and hope and fell to his side.

With a nod, Soval walked into the Great Hall, leaving T'Pol's alone in the dark on top of the mountain – her cloak flapping helplessly in the night breeze.

Soval's words gave her some comfort. Inter-species marriages were extremely rare. She'd heard of a couple being ostracized from Vulcan for not following the wishes of the family. Although it was difficult to disobey the desires of relatives, perhaps she'd grown accustomed to humans' cavalier understanding of relationships – each individual was responsible for choosing his or her life partner. As egalitarian as Vulcan was, traditions … those invented in the time of Surak … were difficult to change – impossible to alter. People clung to the old ways to help them sort out their lives; change was not something that the inhabitants would do easily or readily. She remembered a line Surak spoke when on the steps of Z'ana-ashal (a famous market in Shi'Kar) to the warlords of Vulcan about why he followed logic and reason like a religion. It was a passage she'd always admired, "Being the first to embrace a new idea, a good idea, is never easy, but it can be the most worthwhile. The path of Vulcans should be more worthwhile."

Silently, she headed into the shuttle and made her way back to the inn. Since she would not be participating in the Kolinahr and would be seeing her relatives in neighboring villages, she decided she should make arrangements to go to her childhood home in T'Lal. A hint of a frown formed – she hadn't seen that home in ages … not since her father died some years back. Although her cousin Rama had agreed to check in occasionally on it, she wondered if the same smells and artwork were there.

She hadn't expected to visit it, much less take Jonathan – a human – to that place.

Archer was alone in his room, looking over Vulcan customs. Now that he could ignore the traditions of the banquet, he had 300 screens to scroll through on familial relations. Only in a Vulcan database would he find more entries on expected behavior at a Vulcan banquets than information about Vulcan families. With pride, Jonathan thought humans would be just the opposite – more data would be provided about families.

Well, this was Vulcan and he should do as the Romans … or Vulcans … do.

The reason he combed through the database, besides wanting to make 'it' (everything he'd done up until this point) up to T'Pol – which he really wanted to do – was these so-called tests … challenges. Unfortunately, Vulcans had precious little data on the challenges that she'd wanted to him to take to deem that he was worthy of her. He didn't know the name they used for the trials, but found absolutely nothing on it. What he did find was information about a Vulcan survival test that proved a child was ready for adulthood, one that helped purge emotions or prove there were none, school exams, etc.

He also found this tidbit"

Vulcans become betrothed at an early age. Male's parents arrange the union and the female's parents accept it, based on various social and economic factors, including stature in the community.

Archer was pretty sure that humans wouldn't have any stature in a Vulcan community, or if they did that he personally would have one lower than other humans.

The PADD also had a few sections about kal'i'farr – marriage – which seemed normal enough. Two people uniting in whatever Vulcans united in, but probably wasn't holy matrimony, and then settling down logically. There was hardly any data about the event itself. Scratching his head, he wondered what Vulcan brides wore, whether they ate cake (he decided right away they didn't, at least judging by T'Pol's lack of a sweet tooth), if brides threw a bouquet or if Vulcan men ran their hand up a leg to toss the garter (definitely no garter) and if they participated in honeymoons.

'Marriage and honeymoons,' he thought, sloping his mouth up at the left corner.

Every time he saw her, even when he was angry with her on Enterprise this past week, his heart had tangoed in his chest and goose bumps had formed along his arm. It was the insipid kind of love that made him daydream about her from time to time with a smile in his heart. It'd been a long time since he'd felt this way.

Just today, he'd watched T'Pol sleep for an entire hour, caressing her hair as he gazed at her eyes dancing behind their lids, and listened to her deep, peaceful breathing. Sighing, he'd even taken pride in the way she'd curled her body submissively into his and rested her cheek onto his chest. It awakened something else he'd been feeling for a while – domineering like a protector or a warrior.

'I'm hardly a protector,' he scolded himself.

If anything T'Pol, he reasoned, needed protection from him. He wasn't just in love with her, wanting to shower her with kisses; he lusted after her – craved her.

Lately his skin felt itchy as if he'd needed to rub his fingernails somewhere in between his mid back and lower left-hand shoulder. It was driving him insane. Maybe the first night he really noticed it had been when Admiral Forrest contacted him about V'Lar's death; he remembered his brain, and other parts of his body, revving to be with her …. Ever since then it just seemed to get worse, including occasionally staring – like the heat of the Vulcan suns.

It was emanating deep within him like a roaring fire, and warmed his entire body; the flames licked at his heart making it race. It controlled him. Lust. The idea of pushing her onto – hell, it didn't matter the bed, the floor, against the wall – appealed to him. Greatly appealed to him and before he realized it his mouth gave way to a leering smile.

'What the hell is wrong with me?!' he asked himself.

He'd chalked it up to a lack of intimacy, but the truth was: he'd been without sex for a lot longer than a couple of weeks. Yet his body had been acting, still was, like it belonged to a teenager – all keyed up with teeming hormones pulsating and yearning to break free. This included the more embarrassing parts of his teenage years like incredibly sexy dreams and wishing his pants were just a tad looser. Full on desire would hit him at the weirdest times. Yesterday, when she was stepping out of the shuttle, he got a view of her backside. He'd seen it plenty of times before, and more bare, but for some reason seeing it this time made him flush. Hearing her speak Vulcan was kind of a turn on, too. Damn, seeing her put on lipstick felt like going to an "R" rated movie – titillating without being too much.

He wasn't pubescent. He hadn't felt this way since … well, since he was possibly sixteen or so. And even then he felt he had a better handle (so to speak) on things. And, that's before he had a girlfriend or had enjoyed the company of women.

Wiping his forehead, he realized he was already sweating. Oh, this was just ridiculous. Maybe it wasn't this way all the time; after all, he had to be cajoled a little this afternoon.

Before their second, and last, foray of the day – T'Pol had kissed and caressed him, initiating their rendezvous. In his mind, it began innocently enough, but she'd seemed determined on more. Nuzzling, finger touching and kissing, had led to nibbling, caressing and the meeting of their tongues … and then had given way to biting (the kind that left bruises along his clavicle and her hipbone), grabbing and clawing … especially her fingernails against his skin. When she'd finally pinned his arms against the bed, indicating she wanted control (which normally thrilled him), he'd bitten back a growl, possessively threw her onto the bed and stalked over her. As he'd faced her and control began to creep back into his brain, he'd thought about apologizing; he'd heard a rush of air escape her lungs as her body smacked against the bed -- unprepared, not hurt. But, as he'd opened his mouth to utter an apology, she'd snaked her hand into his hair tugging it savagely and then forced his mouth to hers.

Although the thoughts echoing in her mind had been "yes," he'd felt out of control. Unlike the loving passion earlier, their teeth, nails, fingers and mouths caused tiny bruises and scrapes down each other's body. Even T'Pol had been frenzied, and it pleased him to know it; it satisfied him to see her succumb to him and so readily. And, her lips suckling marks on his body had been glorious – so heavenly he couldn't stop his voice from encouraging her.

Luckily neither did any damage where it was visible to public inspection, but the thought of unleashing his thoughts and body on her was exhilarating at the moment and now … frightening.

The one consolation he had: this lust was really built on love. Its foundation began with two friends who'd grown closer, his absolute adoration of her (even when she wasn't his) and then eventually to her returning his feelings. After five months or so, their relationship had plenty of time to mature and grow.

It was clear: this wasn't like other relationships he'd had.

He'd been in love before – the awe inspiring, sighing type with women he didn't want to sleep, or didn't mind sleeping with, and the feelings associated with just a mindless sexual relationship. He wasn't proud, but the relationship with Rebecca had been mostly about sex and he gave himself only small console that she'd wanted mostly the same from him.

This, his relationship with T'Pol, was a wonderful combination of the two. In all his years, he'd come to appreciate these feelings the most; they were the rarest and most beautiful. Though he wanted to throw her on the bed one moment with a blinding passion, after that darker desire was gone he wanted to hold her … and keep on doing so for as long as he could.

He sighed.

T'Pol's thoughts came into focus rapidly and were so apparent to him that for a moment they seemed like his own emotions. She was angry, but as soon as she felt those emotions rise, she allowed them to taper off and Archer felt the ramifications –brief fury. As soon as those thoughts tingled in his brain, a lid was placed on her emotions as if to contain them. She was definitely talking to Soval, but he could see right away she didn't want his interference. So, with a slight frown he ignored his instincts and dismissed her thoughts, since that's what she wanted, and looked down at his PADD again.

'Right – Vulcan families,' he thought trying to get back into reviewing the data.

Well, at least there was one interesting tidbit about Vulcans; their nuclear families (as humans called them) were small. Vulcans rarely had more than one child. In fact, it was considered a common practice to only have one; it was logical – really only one was necessary for the species to continue. Archer couldn't ignore the similarities in his own destiny – he was an only child born to a mother almost beyond the recommended age of reproduction.

'Funny how much we have in common,' he thought.

For a moment he imagined T'Pol as a little pointy-eared kid running around the planet with pigtails and a stubborn streak the size of the only river that run through Shi'Kar. With large pouty lips and eyes that sometimes shone brown and sometimes had a green tinge to them, he decided she was probably always the cutest Vulcan on the planet. Sensing T'Pol becoming annoyed at his mind chatter, he toned back a bit and worked on quieting his brain.

Having her thoughts available was interesting. Sometimes, he came to a conclusion about how she felt, based on her reaction – or at least her perceived reaction. Being privy to her thoughts, he realized his assumptions were 75 incorrect. For example, he always assumed she didn't care for his body hair, but realized with some amusement she was quite fond of it. Though Vulcans had little hair, she deemed his thick patches of fur – appealing.

It also amazed him to know that she liked specifically the things about him that made him human, especially his laugh. She found his quiet rumble, when released in staccato, wondrous and it caused tiny jolts to scatter across her stomach and a light to gleam in her eye. Although she didn't use the words, she found it – sexy. Her favorite features were his eyes, which were light enough not to be brown, but contained the warmest hint to them. Against the backdrop of his dark brows and the curtain of black eyelashes, they stood out – and were the most reflective of his moods: melancholy, happy, focused (which looked sometimes like brooding), confused and angry (which sometimes looked like brooding). She also liked his hands – long, elegant fingers with manicured nails. When they touched her shivers ran down her spine enticingly.

That was the great thing about knowing how she felt; he could keep doing the things she liked and stop doing the things she didn't like. Even in the small time their mental link … temporary link … had been established, he'd gleaned she didn't like his habit of carelessly tossing worn clothes to the floor. She disliked how he had two pairs of shoes next to the bed – catawampus. And it bothered her that his mind churned at millions of kilometers per second. With a smile, he noted she liked his voice, the one he used usually in the shower, thought he was charming and intelligent and thought his Vulcan wasn't all that bad.

Musing on the last of his strengths, T'Pol walked in with a decided frown on her face.

It seemed he didn't want to say it, but that it had to be said. "Why aren't you at the ceremony?"

Removing her pin and sweeping the cloak off her body, she gave a near pout and dismissed that the man (already sweating) was dressed only in his shorts.

"I was uninvited."

'Huh?"

"News about our relationship has spread. V'Lar's family doesn't wish me to disgrace V'Lar with my presence."

"They can't do that," he said, working up a good furrow. His face also held an apology that in his mind he could tell was waved off.

"They can and they did."

"You should tell them to go to Hell."

"That seems to be your answer to everything," she said.

Cluing into her thoughts, he knew it was a subtle joke. A gentle hand reached up to caress her cheek.

"T'Pol, I know how much V'Lar meant to you. And, I know how much this ceremony meant to you."

Throwing her gaze to the ground, she said, "Soval has arranged a private ceremony for me."

Archer could tell immediately that wasn't the solution she wanted. It hurt her feelings that she was unwanted by fellow Vulcans. His mind twirled over various responses like, "Fuck 'em," but, instead of reeling them off, he gathered her in his arms and held her against his chest.

"That was nice of Soval to do that for you," he admitted – able to pick up on the idea that he worked and negotiated to make that happen for her. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all.

"He's always been a good and wise man," she said. 'At least his intentions are honorable, Jonathan.'

"I know."

Glum, she gave the tiniest of sighs, which made him squeeze her to him just a little tighter.

'I wonder if she wants to be alone?' he thought.

"No," T'Pol answered. 'I wouldn't mind your company. Do you mind if I stay here and meditate?' Her clammy cheek nearly stuck to his warm chest.

'Of course not,' he answered and kissed her forehead. 'I have some reading to do.'

She knew what he was reading. "You won't find the challenges in the database. 90 percent of Vulcans marry whomever their parents have arranged them to wed. For the other 10 percent, many refuse to marry, if the match seems particularly illogical. Perhaps 5 percent attempt to marry someone of their choosing. Of course, possibly 1 percent marry outside their species."

He furrowed his brow, wondering what she was getting at.

"Our database is meant to represent the majority of Vulcans. It's not meant to represent 1."

'I'm started to get a little worried.'

"You should," she said, calmly. 'You will be expected to do various tasks – they are difficult.'

"Like what?" he asked. "Climb Mt. Selaya?"

"Yes," she replied, watching his amused expression turn to stunned. 'I know you are an excellent climber,' she thought hearing his mind, 'but it's not as easy as you think. Selaya is over lava beds – the heat that rises from their ….'

Frowning, he said, "What can I do to prepare?"

"Nothing. It's best not to worry about it."

'Easy for you to say,' he thought.

'Trust me, it is not easy.' Before she could reveal that if he didn't pass the test, their relationship would be void, she closed her mind wearily.

For some reason, that worried him even more. Physical challenges, he could take – after all, he'd played water polo for years and kept active. He was in excellent … or at least good … condition and thanks to the Tri-Ox compound given to him by Dr. Phlox; he could probably accomplish any feat he set his mind to. He was mostly concerned about tests like – telepathy, non-emotion and logic that concerned him most. A speck of a thought from T'Pol eked through that indicated those would be part of the tests he would be forced to take. As soon as the thought entered his mind it was shut out.

Occasionally during their discussions, Archer felt something akin to a trap close and suddenly eerie silence. He'd guessed this was her way of keeping her thoughts private – things she didn't necessarily want to share. It was too bad he didn't have that ability.

'I can show you later.'

Nodding, he sensed she wanted him to stop holding her. Giving into her request, he backed off, but managed to touch his lips to hers gently as he stepped away. A wave rushed over him and he stared into her eyes; she looked so vulnerable with her lip protruding by centimeters and a slight flush to her cheek. Suddenly his heart started to quicken its pace as if he was stalking prey. Rolling his eyes internally, he was miffed at himself – this was the very thing that had been happening too regularly and both the feelings and the frequency irritated him. Trying to force those feelings into his stomach, he sighed in relief as T'Pol, consumed by her own thoughts, walked away.

As he watched on, she prepared the meditation corner -- lighting the candle and spreading out the mat -- and then kneeled down. He crawled back onto the bed and went back to reading about Vulcan.

Settling into her thoughts, avoiding the need to decipher why Vulcans would bar her from attending a ceremony, she began to breathe slowly. Letting her lungs fill to capacity, she blew out a steady breath. Her eyes concentrated on Archer, who'd already gone back to reading the database for familial customs. His foot wiggled around marginally, as he sorted through the 'boring information' and then scrolled through it – working through each topic lost in the data.

Staring at his bare chest and legs, she felt a flash of something. Dismissing it, her mind pinpointed on the day's events and tried to sort them all out. V'Lar's family, Soval, Jonathan and his rippling abdominal muscles that were covered in fine hair.

'No,' she told herself.

Realizing her breathing had picked up speed, she scoffed at herself … just as her eyes fell aimlessly on him as he scratched his chin. Squirming at the cleft that marked his magnificent face, she closed her eyes again.

'Pay attention to your thoughts, not him,' she commanded to herself.

Without trying, her head filled with questions and thoughts of him. It was this relationship that caused her to suffer embarrassment at the banquet. It was this relationship that triggered Vulcans to shun her from a ceremony she had already invited to. It was this relationship … that produced feelings of friendship, care, laughter, love and desire. It was the same kind of lust that consumed her earlier that afternoon.

'Lazing,' as he would call it, in bed with him was sensual. The hairs of his legs rubbed gingerly against her smooth skin and his finger twirled a lock of her hair thoughtfully. Cooing gently in her ear, he said how much he'd missed her during the week and how good it felt to be naked next to her. When her eyes caught his, she noticed they were filled with warmth and comfort.

"Lemme hold you," he whispered to her. "Come here."

His arms wrapped around her seemingly miniscule frame as he nuzzled her neck.

"This is nice," he said, kissing the area where her throat met her shoulder.

Instead of settling into his arms, which he normally did and she usually gave into, she gave a small pant; his mouth against her skin felt sublime. Knowing he struck on erogenous area, he retreated and whispered into her ear.

"Sorry." And then he kissed the tip of her ear.

She arched into him and hoarsely said, "Kiss me again."

Aiming a furrow at her, he leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips, smiling as he moved his head away from hers.

"That what you wanted?" he asked, kidding.

As he was about to snuggle back into her, she splayed her fingers under his hair and presented a more passionate kiss – one that included a tiny moan from her lips.

When she sensed his surprise, she commented, "No, I wanted that."

Narrowing his eyes, further, he stared at her and then joked, "Well, you certainly stole it."

'Do you find me unattractive?'

Watching his reaction and hearing his thoughts, she heard him wonder, 'That's unlike her.' And then in a hushed voice he said, "I think you're beautiful, T'Pol."

'Prove it.'

His eyes widened and she could tell he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly; so she nibbled on his neck and chest, and then spoke the words aloud – clearly and slowly.

"Prove that you find me beautiful."

His breath escaped his mouth in short pants and brushed against her lips. He asked darkly, "What do you want me to do?"

Flattening her hand against his chest, it wound down past his stomach and his eyes closed in delight. Barely scraping her teeth against his neck and swirling her tongue against his throat, she spoke as he writhed underneath her.

"I want you to make love to me."

She could tell hearing those words turned him on immensely and he immediately responded to her request by bringing her mouths to his.

With contentment, she realized she didn't have to look into his mind to notice how eager he was; it was already evident. Which is why she was astonished to hear one thought echo through his brain.

'Again?'

"That was this morning," she said, hoping to tease him. She knew he enjoyed it and she wasn't disappointed.

"I thought you didn't like to in the afternoon. You said it was an 'unproductive way to spend one's time and energy,'" he said. Their mouths met with a little more force and excitement.

"This afternoon is different," she whispered.

Her mouth devoured his and she felt him grow antsy as if connecting with her body was his mission. And yet, she was determined to make him wait.

Fondling and placing his mouth on all the spots she liked, he asked, "How different?"

She sank her teeth into his neck and whispered, "Very."

And her lips found his clavicle, an area that he'd claimed in the past 'made him crazy', and suckled it until she left a bruise, despite his mild protestations. When her teeth left his skin, his fingers reached under her hair and dragged her dominantly to his mouth and attacked it with his lips.

It made her almost smile, and his mind questioned that emotion. Before he could reflect further, and detract from the moment, she rolled onto him – straddling his stomach -- and raked her teeth across his chest. His hips raised and he groaned her name.

"T'Pol," he said, as his hands reached out to caress her.

But, instead of taking their hold, the Vulcan intercepted and forced them above his head and then consumed the base of his neck; another purple mark formed under her lips. Enticed beyond his limit, he whispered a curse … one that made her stare down at his face and watch as he struggled for freedom.

'You have to work for it,' she encouraged.

Her teeth nipped at his ears, chin, lips, throat, chest and shoulders – teasing him that she controlled the situation. As her jaw unhinged itself from his shoulder and a contusion worked to the surface, he gasped.

With a fury of movement, he broke free and tossed her back onto the bed. Losing her breath for a moment, she found herself under him, pinned. Panting for air, she could feel an apology work up to his lips, but before he could speak it, she attacked his lips. It thrilled her.

Before either knew it, they were biting each other seductively and viciously – harder than lovers often do but with the precision that animals in heat might. Their mind link was aggressive and lacked the usual grace of other joinings and beauty that intertwined their minds. This link was ravenous and echoed their physical movements of clutching and clawing at each other; it was raw, base … and exquisite. Unsure who was the hunter and the prey, his mind traced hers occasionally – galloping after her speedy brain and then tackling it. And then hers would turn and give him chase. Whispering curses as his limbs fought hers, his body teased hers several times pushing her past the brink. Finally, she heard herself begging … begging … him to give into release, pleading with him to do so. Gripping his hips, she could feel he didn't want to relent and then another wave passed over her and her mind slipped away into a place without thought and reason. She wondered if she was shrieking his name … whatever she was saying – Vulcan or English – it didn't seem to matter. The amplification didn't matter … especially since his voice groaned loudly through the silence.

When the frenzy was over, she found herself struggling for breath -- shaking. Possessively, his eyes stayed fixated on her, watching her with pride and satisfaction like a beast that has stalked and killed its prey. His stare burned her skin and flushed her cheeks. Confusion crossed her features and his demeanor suddenly changed to one of tenderness and care.

"You all right?" he asked, wiping her damp hair from her face. His touch, unlike moments earlier, was cool and refreshing.

With embarrassment she thought about their actions, especially her own and averted her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

Bringing her to his damp chest and tucking her head under his chin, he spoke into her hair. "I love you."

Giving a mere fraction of a frown, she nuzzled into him and then felt him kiss the top of her head.

'T'Pol, Vulcans may not make love that way, but humans do sometimes.' He paused, trying to catch her eyes. 'I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't mean to.'

'You didn't frighten me,' she clarified.

Still heaving his chest a little from the aerobic exercise, he said, "You were right about one thing: today was very different."

She could see a smile spread from his eyes into his cheekbones. Rather than tease him back or permit her eyes to smile back at him, she settled against his chest, listening to the thumping of his heart. Perhaps she'd been among humans too long; she'd fantasized about this before.

As Jonathan perked up and asked, "Really?" she decided to push her thoughts deeper into her mind and out of his reach.

"Yes," she claimed. "I've thought about it from time to time when you come back from the gym." A tinge of desire traveled along her spine again and as soon as she shirked it away, she noticed his lips seductively nibbled on her ear.

"I've fantasized about it, too," he whispered. "I've imagined a lot of things."

Throwing interference between their minds, she thought, 'I have too – as illogical as that is.' Sinking into him, she wondered what his were … desperately wanted to know what his were.

But, afraid his words would prompt her to want him again, she let them go unchallenged. For now it darkly satisfied her that their encounters may be more exciting, leaving her momentarily breathless.

"Want me to tell you?" he asked as she caught her breath, her right earlobe between his teeth.

It took all of her control to remark calmly, "Another time, perhaps."

And then suddenly the moment was gone between them. He lay down and watched over her visage for just a moment, producing a lop-sided smile and she stood up – hoping to get ready for the day. Before she could wander into the shower or bathroom, he reached for her hand.

"You sure you're okay? I mean … I feel like you're concerned." With a small sigh he said, "I mean … I think I got carried away. I didn't hurt you, did I?" She noticed his eyes fixed themselves on a bruise at her hipbone.

"No," she whispered. What she didn't want him to know was the concern she had was how she wanted to relive it. No, she wanted more; there were other things she wanted to do to him.

"I have to get ready," she explained.

Nodding, he kissed her fingertips.

An instant – a flash of something crawled across her mind as if it'd been there before. As she identified it, it worked down her neck, into her stomach and made her ache. He had that effect on her.

Sensing Archer aware of her thoughts, she noticed he was staring on, perplexed. Without responding, her eyebrow twitched and she left her meditative pose and spoke with a slight quiver in her voice.

"We should get some sleep. The journey to T'Lal takes a few hours."

Before he could question her further, she gathered her cloak and walked out to sleep in her own room.

'I don't trust myself.'

As she left, Archer reflected on those words. The strangest part was – he had trouble identifying whether those thoughts were or weren't his. They momentarily seemed like hers, but he felt them intensely. With the realization, he wondered.

'Why?'

Getting up to leave his room and barge into hers, he felt the trepidation of her own mind. Was she afraid to be with him? Again, he chided himself for the passion he thrust upon her earlier that day, but she seemed to want it. Or, maybe that was his mind saying what he wanted.

As his hand reached around the doorknob, her wish for privacy reaffirmed itself – ringing through his ears.

"All right," he said to no one in particular. It was probably just as well, if she'd changed into her nightclothes – the blue silky pajamas – and lay next to him, it would undoubtedly be his undoing. He'd glide his tongue and mouth up her torso and relish freeing every buttonhole. As quickly as the idea whisked into his mind, it zipped out.

Clearing his throat, he decided the best thing was just get some shuteye. Feeling pent up, knowing he had some mysterious tests to take … it was just a little over the top. A good night's sleep was what he needed. Question was – would he get any sleep?