Two Things Are Certain, Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry, I didn't think people were awaiting this one! It was already written. This is the last of the "racy" chapters; I think you'll understand why when you read this.

A knock on the door woke him up. And right away his body tried to push itself to alertness to prevent the creature next to him from waking. Rolling wearily out of bed, he struggled to stand, ignoring every bone and muscle in his body screaming to lay back down and rest.

Stiffly he put on a shirt and a pair of pants, hoping the visitor was V'Lin; he could use everything she said he may need – food, stimulants … and more.

Stumbling for the door, he opened it as the Vulcan gave away her surprise.

"Jonathan …."

If she wasn't Vulcan or if he wasn't so tired, he would've hugged her to him.

"You look …," she began.

He didn't care, smiling he looked at what she brought: food! Attempting to take the bags before being shooed away, he invited her in.

Speaking carefully and lowly, she said, "Have you seen yourself in the mirror?"

Wondering if he looked like a leper, he traveled to the mirror in the hallway and stared in with disbelief at the image staring back at him. Bruises covered his neck, dark purple circles hung under his eyes due to lack of sleep and near exhaustion, his lips had been bitten more than a few times (some by himself, but most by her) and tiny bruises formed along his psi points. He looked a fright – embarrassingly so – and it made him think his time with T'Pol last night, actually several times, were more brutal than he initially thought.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" she asked, hesitantly.

"I … I don't know …."

"Remove your shirt. Let me examine you."

Shying away, he seemed unwilling to take his clothes off. "I'm okay."

"Quickly. Jonathan, my late husband was a doctor. I might be able to help you." Seeing him act with reticence, she reaffirmed. "Quickly."

Slowly, he raised his shirt over his head and held it as her jaw dropped. "Great Surak."

Archer got the idea that was the equivalent of a curse. Risking the touch of a human, she turned him to face the mirror again; his skin was littered with bruises and scratches. It wasn't much worse than the day before; the bruises along is temple were new and frightful.

"It doesn't really hurt," he whispered. As he spoke, his fingers traced the contusions on his face and he winced at the touch.

"Perhaps you should ask your physician to come sooner."

A groan spilled out of the bedroom and his mind came alive with her presence.

V'Lin said, "She may be closer to her zenith than I thought."

As Archer was about to ask her something, she began taking the contents out of her bags and putting them on display.

"Restraints," she said.

With a furrow, he surveyed the material as she set down other items – food, drink and a small medical kit – onto the dining room table.

"You know how to use them?" she asked.

It was obvious she was talking about the restraints, and it forced them to both turn away.

"Yeah," he whispered. The device didn't look too dissimilar to what held T'Pol down to a bio-bed after she'd returned to Enterprise from the Selaya; they were smaller, but used the same Velcro-like substance. He'd have to secure them to the bed and then place them around her hands and feet.

It made him cringe.

"Don't be embarrassed to use them. She could kill you."

Watching his feet, he thought about that information.

"When she's at the height of Pon Farr, when she's in the plak-tow, she won't mean to, but she could crush your skull, the bone structure around her heart, your spine …."

"I understand."

The Vulcan raised her gray eyebrow and drew her lips into a bow. "I doubt Sovok mentioned some of the finesse of your duty? What would help T'Pol?"

Swallowing deeply, he admitted what he knew. "She needs to be satisfied …."

"Did he explain that Vulcan mates bite and claw each other?"

He didn't have to.

As if reading his mind, she gazed over his features. "I meant, of course, she'll want you to bite and claw her."

He furrowed his brow.

"You won't hurt her. Vulcan's have more epidermal layers – it protects us from the suns that our planet circles. Besides, it is the male in Pon Farr who … dominates."

Shaking his head, his mouth fell open and tried to tell V'Lin that this … all of this … was almost too much to ask of him.

Again, guessing his discomfort, she ran her fingers along the table. "I am glad even on her ship full of humans she found someone who can appreciate her uniqueness." The woman raised her eyebrows, obviously catching some of his compunctions.

"Her … Vulcan-ness is part of the reason I care about her so much," he said.

As a quiet moment fell between them, V'Lin leaned toward him barely, titling her head to the side.

"There is one thing you might try to assist her to eat. Place the food, nes'parah, on your fingers and feed it to her. She's too thin."

"I thought Vulcans didn't like to eat with their hands."

"During the Pon Farr, we find it more … acceptable."

Another moan slipped out of his room. "Jonathan."

Wiping his hand over his face, he tried to urge his body to continue. As if embodying Florence Nightingale herself, T'Pol's aunt rifled through the bags she'd brought and prepared a hypo. With deliberateness, she shot the stimulant into his neck.

As the hiss resounded, she remarked, "I had a friend of mine prepare the concoction to handle your human physiology. It shouldn't harm you, but you should use it sparingly – once a day."

Steadying himself, he reached out to the table in front of him – the one that held many items from V'Lin.

"It should keep you awake and alert," she said with pity. "I know the challenge zapped some of your strength from you."

Breathing quickly, he felt his heart sputter to life as if he had renewed vigor.

"Are you hungry now?" she asked.

He nodded as his mind heard T'Pol call out for him, almost sinking to his knees at the want from his mate. She was burning, an inferno, and couldn't wait any longer. Stuffing a piece of what looked like bread into his hand, she watched him tear at it as if he hadn't eaten in days and shuffle forward as to answer her.

Talking to his back, V'Lin told him about the food he was gorging on. "It's made from lentils contains protein – something that should help sustain you."

As he was at the portal of his bedroom, catching T'Pol squirming on the bed dark green with desire, he shivered. Before stepping forward he turned.

"Thank you."

A smile lit in her eyes and she headed toward the door.

"V'Lin, why are you helping me?"

Her delivery was unemotional and yet warm. Facing him, she folded her hands in front of her.

"Because you need help."

He couldn't argue with her. T'Pol moaned for him again louder verbally and almost deafeningly in his mind.

Who is keeping you from me?

Your aunt.

Tell her to leave. The want …. Come to me. I cannot wait.

As he waited for V'Lin to leave, she waved him on.

"Jonathan, go. I'll drop by tomorrow. Remember what I said about feeding her. It's best to try it before tomorrow."

When the door closed, Archer entered his room, holding his shirt in his hand. Stepping in, he panted for her as she sat up and allowed the sheets to drape over her midsection to her upper thigh.

"You're beautiful," he said. He approached with awe – his steps faltering – as if she was a queen on a throne.

She wasn't just beautiful, she was like a goddess.

Archer remembered his Greek and Roman mythology. Venus was married to the god of the volcano, the one with a hunched back and a hammer kept at his side. Luxurious, chestnut hair with flecks of gold and red fanned out, falling around her face, framing it. Her eyes were like black pearls weighted with tiny drops of water – they glistened in the harsh sunlight. Moist and full, her lips pouted like the petals of a rose in bloom. And her skin sparkled; it was a mixture of patina and warmed copper. T'Pol was the Venus in the Botticelli painting – demure, but radiating sexuality.

Opening his mouth only slightly, he felt his salivation glands work overtime and his exhausted body capitulate to her like a servant.

Obviously, the desire wasn't enough; she sent images to him – his fingers wrapped in her hair, his small lips pressed against her neck, a flick of his tongue against the point of her ear …. So overpowering, he fell to his knees at her bedside.

"T'Pol," he whispered.

Ancient words ruminated in his mind – they were Vulcan, but oddly he knew the meaning. She was chanting something like an incantation trying to keep her mind from creeping into bedlam.

"Shhhh," he said. Stroking his thumb against her cheek, he gave her a soft smile. "You shouldn't be afraid to let loose your desire … your emotions. I don't scare so easily."

"You don't know," she replied in Vulcan.

Yes, I feel your mind. I know.

Aisha, I am at the edge of an abyss. Beneath me – chaos ….

Her emotions were uncontrollable – he could tell she wanted to laugh, cry, sing and scream all at once.

I'm ready to catch you, T'Pol.

As her mind began to slip away, he crawled into bed with her, prepared to take whatever came his way.

Lunacy tickled her stomach and mind. Maybe it wasn't insanity – maybe it was pure emotion. One feeling in particular was a menace, forcing out the ability to recognize other emotions. Lust. Base … without the need for love or comfort.

As if to make sure the man in bed with her was her mate, hers, she nuzzled his hair. Soft, chocolate strands that smelled like seawater fell against her cheek. Sighing, she acknowledged it was his scent.

I want him, she thought in Vulcan.

Caressing his rounded ears with her lips and tongue, she heard him give a light hum and felt him spread his fingers through her hair. At his touch, she purred and writhed against him.

He whispered something to her, but she didn't want him to speak – not now. Besides, she realized she couldn't think in English, much less speak it; even thinking in Vulcan was hard right now. Everything was difficult to do right now … everything was eclipsed by the need to mate.

His lips!

Taking his lower lip between her teeth, she tugged until his body arched into hers and he moaned. Satisfied, she dug her fingers into his hip and ran her tongue along his; it was warm and wet, and it tasted of previous kisses. His taste was delicious. Sinking her teeth into his lips with more ferocity, she felt him squirm underneath her.

Yes.

Licking at his throat, she savored him like an appetizer tantalizing her palette – the salt and sweat. His neck was scratchy, rough against mouth, prickling her skin. Rubbing her face against his cheek and neck, she relished the tiny hairs that irritated her flesh. She wanted to rub her body against it. She wanted to rub her body against him.

Yes.

Her greedy fingers rushed through the hair on his chest and stomach, smoothed over the fur on his thighs and clutched at the bare skin of his backside. The touch sparked more life into him and for a moment his eyes closed with pleasure.

Yes.

Sliding her leg along his, her hands scooted him closer to her so that her body was pressed against him. She could feel his heartbeat as her lips nipped at the base of his neck … she could even feel it beating against her chest. Thumping louder – the noise calling an ancient, more primal, version of herself. He was prey.

Yes.

Within an instant, her fingers, tongue and mouth assaulted him. Pinning him, she took over his mind and commanded his body. She needed him quickly again before the fires scorched her insides and she burned into ashes. What was sensual turned hungry and panicked. Scrambling to him, her kisses became more frantic and rough as she clawed at his body, hoping he would press his form nearer still.

Throwing her head back with delight, she noticed his hands tried to rip at her skin – clumsily as if he didn't want to hurt her or he had no skill. Encouraging him, she felt his nails penetrate her flesh.

Yes.

Since the time of the beginning, there was the mating cycle … the Pon Farr. Listening to the rhythm of her planet she fell into the lull of its beat. Her mind fuzzed and blurred; thought and reason, all of it, waned and slipped away.

The next time her mind wrestled itself from the madness – when her mind awoke – she found herself panting. She was on the floor, curled up next to Jonathan watching him sleep. Glancing at the clock she realized a considerable amount of time had passed: five hours. Five hours she couldn't account for. After lightly nudging Jonathan, he stirred slowly and grabbed the back of his head. Squinting at the nearly and blinking quickly, she gathered by his movements he was in pain.

"Are you okay?" she asked. The words were difficult to form; her English sounded strangely alien.

"Yeah," he whispered, sitting up.

"What …?" she asked.

"You tackled me."

I don't remember, she thought in Vulcan. Her mother tongue was much easier for her to speak in and think in.

"I know."

Gazing over new contusions and scratches, she gave a small pout and tried unsuccessfully to blink away a few tears.

You should use the restraints.

Brushing away her tears, he said. "I think you're right."

A headache roared behind his eyes. His body – every centimeter of it – was completely devoid of life and his mind felt fuzzy. Struggling to raise his head, he tried to determine what time it was.

Spying the metallic clock near T'Pol's right ear, he stifled a grunt.

0823.

Luckily the panting creature beside him was still asleep, which meant maybe this might be a good time to take advantage of V'Lin's suggestion and ask Phlox to take a look at him.

He mentally surveyed the damage: his temples hurt from the place where T'Pol had gripped him fiercely, he thought his ribs were either bruised or broken, his head had a nasty bump and he was too exhausted to move. Worse, his body was completely shutting down. During their last foray, T'Pol had to coax him almost endlessly for his body to perk up and give her what she needed.

Really, he was impressed his body held out so long – thanks to the stimulants and Tri-ox compound – but was concerned about T'Pol; if she didn't receive his … "biological matter" (the words still made him wince) she could die. If he was unable to help her, he'd have to ask someone like Korin to guide T'Pol through Pon Farr. He was determined not to let that happen.

Forcing his body to move and don some clothing, he lumbered out of the room and opened his communicator.

"Archer to Phlox," he whispered.

"Phlox here!" the voice rang out.

Chipper as always. Somehow it felt more annoying now, rather than comforting like it was on Enterprise.

"Doc, this is more of a favor than an order. Do you have time to come down to Vulcan?"

"Yes. When?"

"I was kinda hoping now. That is … if you have time."

"Of course. Is something wrong?"

Licking his lips, he decided not to really answer. "I'd like you to help me with something. A … problem."

"Very well, I'll ask Mayweather to shuttle me to the surface …."

Archer cut him off. "This is confidential."

"I see. If it's that urgent, I can use the transporter. Anything in particular I should know? I'd like to bring the right medical supplies and equipment."

"I'd like you to bring a pain reliever, something in case I broke my ribs and provide some advice on … uhm … stimulation."

Phlox's voice resounded with glee. "Sexual stimulation?"

The captain couldn't refrain from sighing. "Yes."

"The coordinates?" said the physician. He was obviously still delighted.

"I've transmitted them to you."

"I'll be right down, Captain!"

Within a few moments, Phlox's visage shimmered into the living room and Archer met him immediately with his index finger pointed over his lips.

"T'Pol's sleeping in the other room," he whispered.

Phlox's mouth fell open as he nodded in understanding. By the way the doctor stared, Archer took to mean his appearance was even worse than yesterday. Not only that, but if a human could smell sweat and sex in the air, and he could, he knew that a Denobulan would get a snoot full.

"Captain …."

Archer waved his hand in front of his body and uttered the words that seemingly explained everything. "T'Pol's entered Pon Farr."

Phlox jerked his head back. "It's obvious. The bite marks on your neck, scratches along your arms, swelling and contusions around your temples. Your lips are chapped. You have swelling under the eyes as if you haven't slept. Your …."

"I get it."

"You said you thought you'd broken a rib?" he asked.

"It could be just bruised."

"Could you remove your shirt?" said Phlox.

As Archer winced and lifted his weak arms to pull off his gray, cotton t-shirt, Phlox spoke a few words which sounded like a curse.

"Biznik." The sound of the scanner worked around his back and then he saw the doctor wave it over his chest and stomach.

"That bad?"

"I think you've done more than damage your ribs. Your kidneys are bruised, your liver is swollen, your blood pressure is down, your body is dehydrated and slightly anemic, the cuts on your hands haven't healed properly …."

"Doc "

"I would hazard a guess that you're taking the Tri-ox too often and mixing it with some sort of stimulant. Are you?"

"Well, yes, but "

"And I'm sure you're taking the stimulant more than once per day. I would hazard a guess at three times per day."

"Well –"

"The human body just isn't designed for that! Take the stimulants only once per day and the Tri-ox as I ordered. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but I "

"If you're having trouble … performing, I can provide some assistance on that matter. Are you?"

Archer eyes fell to the floor as his head nodded.

"Although, I have to admit I'm a bit surprised. I would've thought a healthy male your age would be able to assist her four times a day."

"I don't have trouble with four."

The two stared at each other trying to figure out the miscommunication.

And then Archer understood the dilemma. "Four?"

"Yes, that's all she should require," Phlox said.

Archer squinted his eyes. "Four!"

"Now, if you're embarrassed …."

"The Vulcans told me I'd have to help her as many as twenty. We haven't reached twenty, but …."

"Twenty?" With a little too much interest, Phlox asked another question – his voice taking on a slimy quality. "Have you been able to … meet that quotient?"

The captain's lips fell flat. "No."

Phlox tapped his chin. "Well, I suppose I can understand the confusion. A Vulcan would have to help her that many times, but you're not Vulcan."

Archer furrowed his brow, waiting for a more thorough explanation and he unfortunately got one.

"You see, human males have larger reproductive organs than Vulcan males, which means you're able to produce more seminal fluid ..."

"Never mind," he said hoping to talk over the doctor.

"… than Vulcans. Human males produce something around … oooh … a thimble full of the fluid …"

"Forget I asked."

"… while Vulcan males produce less than a quarter of that. It's why the mating process is so long for them and why they need to mate many times a day. Vulcan females are prepared to endure the act of mating as many …"

"Okay."

"… times as necessary. Once a Vulcan female is impregnated or after seven days (at least the average Pon Farr), which ever comes first, the mating cycle is over."

"Thanks."

"But, you don't need to impregnation. The chances for offspring are extremely remote."

"I know. Now that that's settled …."

"It's interesting – Vulcan's cycle last seven years. In sharp contrast, human females are only 23 – 32 days. One egg every seven years just waiting to be fertilized."

"Listen, Doc "

"Anyway, if T'Pol has the urge and you're not … shall we say … up for the task, you can do something I've read about in a journal. You can manually stim –"

Phlox was about to raise his hand as if to show the captain this technique, which prompted Archer to grab the physician's hand and interrupt him for what he hoped was the last time.

"That's enough," he said, cutting him off with more authority. Letting go of the doctor's forearm and focusing on a point on the wall, he admitted he knew about this technique.

"I understand what I need to do," Archer said.

"I've also read that humans use a device –"

Archer cut that off as well. "I understand."

"Good. Humans are such prudes, I was hoping you'd been trained."

Not exactly trained. Something made Archer's skin crawl thinking of Denobulan mothers and fathers not only talking to their kids about the birds and the bees, but giving them pointers.

With glee, the doctor continued to pontificate. "The mating among species is fascinating really. Each is unique, created to help the race survive. Dr. T'Ples believes the desert climate brought the Vulcan primate-like ancestors together so rarely that it was vital for them to mate fiercely and many times per day just to fertilize one egg. That survival instinct has remained in the Vulcans producing few offspring and causing their entire culture to accept this act. All this just so an egg can be fertilized …."

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Enough."

"Oh," Phlox said with disappointment. "Very well." He put his scanner down and leveled his eyes at the captain. "Because you've been overmedicating, I'm not going to give you a pain reliever. I'm not sure your system can take it."

"But –"

"The bump on your hear is superficial and your ribs are merely bruised."

"But – "

"By the number of fresh bites, I assume T'Pol in estrus?"

"Huh?"

"Is T'Pol near ovulation?"

Archer winced again. "I guess …."

"A doctor from Vulcan should see her afterward Pon Farr is over. Or she can ask me if she'd feel be more comfortable. I'll leave that up to her discretion."

"Thanks," he said, unconvincingly.

"Captain, I know how embarrassed you are, but this is a medical question … a question about your safety. May I ask it and receive an honest answer?"

Skeptically, Archer nodded.

"Have you been using restraints on her?"

Turning his head away, a very small voice eked out the word as his face flushed red. "Yes."

"You shouldn't feel uncomfortable; I'm sure the binding is helping to save your life."

The captain shifted his weight and looked toward his feet. "So I've been told."

"Don't let your timidity get in the way. Think of it as … safe sex." He gave a light huff, that sounded like his version of laughter.

Archer wasn't amused. Instead, he stuffed his tired fingers through his hair and threw the doctor an icy glare.

"I'll send something down that will hopefully speed your recovery – including help those nasty gashes on your back. It should also enhance your sexual performance."

Great. Nodding, he watched his feet, hoping the rest of the conversation would go quickly. "I don't want to know what's in this do I?"

"It will contain vitamins as well as the secretions of the Boractic slug found in …."

No, I didn't, thought Archer as he tuned the rest of the ingredients out so that he could drink the mixture when it arrived.

"Now, make you sure you rest as much as possible, eat – you're malnourished and drink plenty of water. It'll take me a few minutes to put the elixir together. I'll ask Commander Tucker to use the transporter to send it down when it's complete."

"All right. Thanks, Doc."

Phlox smile swallowed up his entire face and with a flick of his communicator, he asked to be beamed aboard. Before his image shimmered into thin air, he said a few words.

"Enjoy the rest of your stay."

Right.

At that moment T'Pol arrived at the door of the bedroom, looking into the living room wrapped in a thin sheet. She was shivering, even though sweat was dripping off her petite frame. Though dehydrated, Archer felt a rush of saliva invade his mouth.

Tiny tears formed in the corner of her eyes. I've been calling to you. Do you not want me? she projected in Vulcan.

He walked toward her and took her in his arms.

"I asked Dr. Phlox to help me," he said. Cradling her face against his chest, he heaved a sigh. "Couldn't you sense my thoughts?"

She sniffled into his chest, nodding.

Lifting her chin and meeting her eyes, he comforted her. "Of course I want you." Brushing a lock of hair from her face, he confessed his heart. "I love you."

Dragging her back into a hug, he kissed the top of her head. He noticed his chest was wet, but not with tears any longer – her tongue and lips danced against his chest.

Jerking his arm into their room, she almost smiled. "Good. I want you to feed me nes'parah again."

I hope Phlox hurries and sends the mixture down.

TBC