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Date: Sun, 06 Jun 2004 23:43:01 -0400
Subject: [ASC] ENT: New Fic:  Love That Putty - R - T/Tu  (1/1)
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Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 5 Jun 2004 20:43:54 -0700  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: susieqla@yahoo.com (Sue) 
 

Title :      Love That Putty
Author:      Sue
E-Mail:      susieqla@yahoo.com
Website:     None.
Series:      ENTERPRISE
Pairing:     T/Tu
Category:    Romance/Het.
Rating:      R (Just in Case)
Summary:     The first session of neuro-pressure.



Love That Putty



As soon as T'Pol finished speaking with Phlox, she knew
she had nothing to reproach her tone for. It was as
convincing as ever, it had conveyed just the right
amount of being put upon, without going overboard. She
doubted one of those actresses in all those movies she'd
been cajoled into seeing could have done better.

She thought back to earlier when in sickbay, the doctor
had done his best to get her to agree to help Tucker win
the battle over insomnia. She allowed a tight-lipped
smile to grace her subtly shaded face, the subdued
lighting in the room cast just the right light. Yes, she
had been most convincing, indeed.

The commander would be calling on her soon, and it all
was the Denobulan doctor's brainstorm, a clever ruse.
How fortuitous...just when she was beginning to believe
that getting to know the chief engineer better was an
uphill battle, unwittingly, Phlox had set the stage. Now
it was up to her to make the most of this unexpected turn
of events.

Now, if she could keep up the pretense of clinical
interest, nothing more, throughout this initial encounter
so she wouldn't arouse the commander's suspicions of just
how smitten she was with him.  Up till now, she had never
seriously stopped to consider if Tucker found her
attractive. From what she had gathered in her readings
on, and the varying degrees of interactions with human
males, attractiveness ranked high.

She wasn't completely sure if it mattered so much to him.
Although, on second thought, judging by his varying
reactions whenever "good-looking gals," as he described
them, graced the movie screen, physical comeliness
seemed to matter to this red-blooded human male.

The pajamas without the robe, she'd go with that. It
seemed to her she'd caught him many a covert time going
over her body with an appreciative eye. Why, he'd even
made the flip remark about her looking good in alien
silk. Although it could have been his way of chiding
her.

T'Pol was unable to pinpoint just what made the
commander an object of curious desire in her estimation.
She vaguely suspected it might have something to do with
the enigmatic blue clarity of his eyes; they were a heady
hue, which shouldn't have mattered to a levelheaded
Vulcan like herself, but it did. Certain looks he gave
her inspired trust and the willingness to lend him the
benefit of the doubt, even against her better judgment.

He was a tempting, robust specimen, and the fact that he
possessed a honed intelligence he deceptively played down
beneath his "honking" irrationality drew her like the
proverbial moth to flame.

Honking...she had secretly begun harboring colloquial
expressions Hoshi used quite freely. Honking fit Trip to
a tee, she also translated to the vernacular.

But, when her door's chime signaled Tucker's presence,
she donned the simple robe to drape over her body. There
was such a thing as a woman being too forward, and she
had no intention of sending her fellow ranking officer
the wrong message, at least not this early in this new
experience. Her mind said one thing, her body, that was
betraying her enthusiasm, spoke something else, much more
candidly.

His casual attire distracted T'Pol momentarily, she not
used to seeing him this out of uniform. Basically, he was
dressed to workout but she seldom was in the gym with him
at the same times. The definition of his muscles in
aesthetically-pleasing proportion stood out in sharp
relief. The color of his cotton twill shirt flattered his
skin's pigmentation.

Phlox' pretext for getting him there, in the form of the
PADD he delivered set aside, she offered him tea, which
he politely declined, saying he wouldn't be, "fit
company." He looked fit enough, but she decided she'd
tackle him from another angle.

Then, after he muttered that Phlox had given him a
sedative to help him sleep, and tea might keep him up,
he thanked her. The so-called sedative was nothing more
than a powerful suggestion meant to dupe the mind. T'Pol
weighed the facility of telling him the truth about what
he'd been given. Duplicity wasn't her style, but she held
off.

She sensed his desire to leave, but along with that, she
got the feeling he wanted to stay a little longer than
his behaving somewhat uncomfortable suggested. 

Maybe concern for her might work to her advantage.

"You're having trouble sleeping as well?"

His look of stark surprise was the genuine article.
"Never would've pegged you as an insomniac."

Gratified he'd taken the hint, she fleshed out, "I
believe the Expanse has been distrupting my REM
patterns." Her dark eyes, granted more exotic drama
by high regal cheekbones that inclined upward, viewed him
intently. As though waiting for something indefinable,
she anticipated his response.

"Probably nothin' a good hypospray won't cure." He had to
yawn, but stifled it. He didn't want her to think his
being in her presence was less than scintillating, but
the stuff Phlox had given him was potent, he reckoned.

It seemed to T'Pol that his prescription for everything
that ailed a person was to rely on artificial
alleviators. "Vulcan science teaches us to prompt our
bodies to create their own medicines."

He had an easy question for her testimonial to her
precious Vulcan science. "So why're you still havin'
trouble sleepin'?"

As dispassionately as was her usual norm, she explained,
"The neural nodes that need to be stimulated are
difficult to reach." Before he could reply, her back was
to him and she slipped her robe from her shoulders.
"Perhaps you could help me..."

For a fleeting moment of sheer animal instinct, Trip
would have freely taken an oath that this was a come on,
pure and unadulterated if ever he heard one. Vulcan or no
Vulcan, the ice queen was definitely thawing. "I. . .I
really don't know if I can--"

"Three centimeters on either side of the fifth vertebra."
Her top was off and her incredibly sensual back was to
him--on her bed--.

When had he made the move, like some dopey whelp, to sit
behind her? It was as though he'd obeyed as though on
auto-pilot. Was this really happening, her trusting him
to perform some Vulcan manipulation on her semi-naked
person? Trip gulped, feeling ripples beset his lower
region. Prickly beads of sweat dotted his hairline.

He'd never touched a Vulcan before, and marveled how warm
her skin was; it felt much warmer than his had ever been.
Touchin' T'Pol, he thought in bemused wonder, never in
real life...in my wildest dreams...well--

"You can apply considerable pressure," T'Pol encouraged,
her voice like a sigh. His touch was barely there.
Stimulation of her neural nodes required considerable
pressure.

He fantasized what dotting her back with feverish little
kisses would be like as he fixated on her flesh with nary
a blemish. Her skin was unreal for its evenness of tone
and buttery feel, it possessed a glow that defied
description. He sensed she was waiting. Waiting for what,
for him to pull her into his arms, making his dreams come
true since the first time his eyes drank her in? And
she'd snubbed him.

'-Whoa, where had that little flight of fancy come
from?-'

His fingers pulsed and he inhaled, then fairly murmured,
"I'm not sure which of these is..."

T'Pol settled into his hands. "Right there."

Roughened fingerpads glided over the spot again to make
sure he'd hit the mark; his thumbs were positioned on
either side of her backbone that looked as delicate as
a limb of bamboo. "Right here." Gently, Trip pressed.

"A little closer together," T'Pol coached.

Obediently, his thumbs crowded closer.

"Harder," T'Pol exhorted.

Doing as she so positively advised, Trip applied even
more pressure, expecting her to protest that he was
doing it too hard now.

T'Pol uttered no such complaint, but insisted that he do
it even, "-Harder.-"

"If I push much harder," he objected, "I'll knock you
over." He knew she was strong, superhumanly so, but there
was nothing that said he was supposed to leave marks, not
on such pretty flesh. His desire to caress it with his
lips hit him full force, again.

Remaining silent, T'Pol waited for him to continue, which
he did, and he pressed harder, despite his better
judgment. Like a ramrod, she stayed in rigid place. Trip
couldn't help but be greatly impressed; she was one hardy
piece of work, gossamery beauty coupled with solid might.

"Just like that...please continue."

Trip followed through with something akin to slavish
attention. Just when he thought his fingers would go
numb, T'Pol exhaled deeply, her breath more like a
glottal moan, although a shade wispier. His stimulation
was just what she'd needed. For a human with inferior
strength, he had much potential. His hands on her hadn't
been what she imagined it would be. Pleasurable
sensations, comforting, enciting...no, not at all what
she had anticipated.

Feeling her body relax in the palms of his hands ignited
a heat wave that had begun in his cheeks, coursing down
his torso to pool in his lap. Her sensuous moan wasn't
what he'd expected.

What was happening here? If something more personal than
his repeated invitations to 'movie night' was going on,
he braked when he considered where it might lead.
Friendship was just fine with him, but if T'Pol was
hinting they have something more, would he oblige?

His answer stalled...

Taking her time, T'Pol turned to face him. "That was far
more effective than a hypospray." Matter-of-factly, she
settled her pajama top back on, buttoning it.

Trying to sound flip, Trip replied with several light
pats of her leg, "Glad to be of assistance." He stood and
distanced himself from her bed.

Graciously, T'Pol, extended, "It would be only fair for
me to return the favor." Without the merest hint of
suggestiveness, she stipulated, "Please disrobe."

Trip went on his own home grown version of 'Reed Alert,'
looking as though she'd stung him like those bees had
when, as a boy of eight, he'd raided the hive.

'-Why the little minx,-' he rushed to judgment, '-She IS
comin' on to me.-' His blush suffused his neck. A sager
voice advised, '-Keep your cool, man. This is T'Pol, NOT
your latest Hollywood heartthrob, the knockout, Laney
Walsh.-' His rash side went right on talking, fanning his
ego. '-Uh huh, keep tellin' yourself that while Te has ya
pinned to the bunk havin' her way with ya. She wants me
like nobody's business.-'

Stammering, Trip regrouped, "I'm really flattered,
Sub-commander--it's okay to call ya Sub-commander, right?
And don't think that under different circumstances I
wouldn't jump at the chance to--" He cut himself off; he
sounded like some jerky kid. T'Pol's look was priceless.

Displaying a tidy, controlled version of gaping at the
flustered chief engineer, T'Pol said through
barely-parted lips, "Are you implying that I'm making
sexual advances?" 

'-Bingo, baby!-'

She had taken up a position as far from him as the tight
confines of the room allowed. Her own arms hugged her
waist. She looked as though if she could walk through a
wall she would have.

Then again, maybe he HAD misunderstood, reading her
completely, 'wrong doesn't even come close, you
egomaniac!'

"No-no-no--not at all!" He needed no mirror to know how
red his face had to be, embarrassed to the max and lying
through his teeth. "I. . .I was just. . .ya see, the doc
gave me this sedative and I think..." He drew each word
out, "It's...startin'...to...work."

T'Pol had had her fill of Phlox' duplicity. "The doctor
injected you with a -placebo-. He sent you here because
he wanted -me- to persuade you to try Vulcan
neuro-pressure. As I predicted, it was a pointless
exercise." She trudged back to her bed, and sank to its
edge. Misleading the commander...what had she been
thinking, lending herself to tricking him? She'd seen it
in his eyes, he was upset with her; she'd lost a good
deal of his respect.

The T'Pol he knew and admired had returned, sending the
femme fatale version packing. Relieved that he'd been
wrong big time, he thanked her with his eyes, but his
gratitude lasted seconds. It was Phlox he needed to set
straight, but good. How dare he play fast and loose with
his well-being and peace of mind? Ooh, was the Denobulan
'gonna get it.'

"Why didn't he just -ask- me?"

"He -did-" T'Pol countered. "This morning. You refused."

Now, when had Phlox sprung treatment a la T'Pol on him?
He must've missed that. He had the uncomfortable feeling
that losing sleep was wreaking serious havoc with his
powers of anything that demanded concentration. With so
much on his mind lately...  Oh, well, he was hearing
about it now, but that still didn't put the wily doctor
in the clear.

"So this whole thing was just a setup?" Talk about a
Vulcan-Denobulan conspiracy, Trip reflected, it was good
the two were on their side.

T'Pol...caught in a lie, he couldn't get over it. She
making a pass, yeah, right, and the Xindi had no
intentions of destroying Earth.

"The doctor knows how intransigent you can be," T'Pol
said with all the finesse of wielding a sledgehammer she
was all set to whack a wall with.

"Intransigent?" Now that was hitting below the belt.

T'Pol had no clue about the double-edged scope of Trip's
ire. "Unwilling to try something new."

Oh, now she'd gone and done it, insulting his
intelligence with the flick of her barbed tongue. Every
vocabulary test he'd ever taken in school he'd aced with
hundreds. He'd impressed Hoshi many times with his
comprehensive knowledge of all and sundry words. "I
-know- what it means," he objected, "but it just so
happens it's not true. I'm willin' to try new things as
anyone else."

T'Pol made room for him on the bed, and with a look of a
poker game's 'I raise you,' she challenged, "Then take
off your shirt." She waited, convinced he would do as she
asked.

'-Okay, Lady,-' he retorted in the safety of his mind,
'-one shirt comin' off. You asked for it.-'

His mouth sprang open, but she'd rendered him speechless.
It occurred to him then how good she was at cornering
him, and nearly simultaneously, it also dawned on him
that if she really hadn't wanted to help him, she
wouldn't be offering him any. Gratitude welled up in him
again. Only a true friend would bother.

Still and all, before his shirt came off he tossed her a
withering look over his shoulder, letting her know that
he had his reservations.

When her fingers touched his back, he involuntarily
jumped. He'd expected warmth, lots of it, but instead,
her fingers chilled him. It didn't seem consistent with
what little he knew about Vulcans and their body
temperature, but he kept his mouth shut, giving himself
to the strength and expertise she commanded.

He wondered if she'd ever touched a human, a male
especially, the way she was working his back. From the
time she'd begun, with each stage of the technique's
progression, their breathing seemed to align as issuing
from a single being. The breathing was all important,
she'd explained.

Trip had never experienced the unassuming quality of this
unique form of intimacy before in his life. It was
intimacy without the awkwardness. What was there to be
awkward about, at least now? He felt totally at ease; she
was calming him on a host of levels. T'Pol, her deft
manipulations coaxing pressure points along his spine to
respond, astounded him. The more she plied her
specialized skill, the more she transported his mind and
body to nerve-soothing bliss. How could he ever thank
her? Already, the relaxtion she'd promised held him in
its irresistible embrace.

'-Vulcan neuro-pressure. . .-' his mind turned over for
as many times, as all other thoughts kept blurring. One
notion wouldn't fuzz. '-. . .Who would have thought?
T'Pol an' me. . .-'

"Commander?"

"Hmm?"

"I have accomplished enough for this initial session. Are
you able to return to your quarters?"

"Hmm?" His eyes wouldn't open.

"Are you able to leave?"

"Leave?" He still couldn't open his eyes; the lids felt
like lead. "Oh. . .leave..." For a crazy moment he felt
like asking if she'd let him stay, but that was loco
talk. "Ye-yeah...sure. I'll--"

"Because if you are unable..." T'Pol hesitated for only
the briefest of moments. "You may stay. You're welcome
to." She carrying him back to his quarters was possible,
but not an option she deemed he'd consent to.

Trip knew he'd heard wrong. "S-stay? Here? Me?" Bleary-
eyed, and floundering in his brain's incoherence, he
tried to stand from his lying face down, and swaying,
T'Pol caught him. "Couldn't do that...could I?"

Their eyes locked, and T'Pol resisted the urge to stroke
his cheek. He really was a beautiful man, as groggy as
he was, and the physical was the lesser factor. "You
could. It is the logical decision. Your body is primed
for falling asleep." She lowered him to her bunk, he
powerless to resist and caught up in her determination
that he make himself comfortable.

Slurring most of his words, he asked, "What 'bout you?"

She looked to the floor. "I will sleep there."

"No," Trip protested, but not very loudly because the
sleep hungering to claim him all but had.

"Don't say any more. Sleep, now."

Stubbornly, Trip persisted, and wrestled with himself to
move his bulk over to make room enough for her. "We share
or I crawl back to my own bunk."

"You're in no condition to--"

"Get in, or I go," Trip said in one breathy gust of
belabored breath.

"You are stubborn, Commander," T'Pol opportunistically
pointed out, despite her movements to comply with his
wheezy ultimatum.

"Takes one to know..." His yawn swallowed up his last
word. Sleep captured him and nothing but a full eight
hours would guarantee his release.

Once she lay beside him, his light snoring was a strange
music to her ears. His smell was an odd blending of his
singular human maleness, scrubbed to neutralize the odor
of bio-waste, a musky scent of piney woods and the
essence of where he spent most of his time, Engineering.
She lay wide awake for quite some time before she acted
upon the idea of touching his face. After she cradled his
cheek in her palm, she raised her hand to spread over the
spot where she could feel his heart beat.

Then the thought of satisfying another curiosity
emboldened T'Pol. The same fingers that had stroked his
cheek were now lifting two waistbands. Trip stirred, but
remained fast asleep as her fingers gingerly explored
furry virgin territory. She was impressed; he was
generously endowed. When she heard his breath catch,
followed by faint snuffling sounds, her hand retreated
from beneath his pants while at the same time, Trip eased
onto his side with his face towards her.

He hadn't awakened.

Barely moving, she inched her body closer to his until,
scant inches apart, she molded her form flush to his
warm accessible body. She was attracted to him, admitting
it to herself, barring reservations, was the first hurdle
she'd successfully cleared.  In the weeks to come,
helping him with neuro-pressure, she hoped his
cultivating similar feelings for her would be a natural
progression.

Although he was human, she Vulcan, T'Pol looked beyond
that. Commander Tucker was her choice.

When, unconsciously, Trip's arm, the one he wasn't lying
on, ended up weighting her waist, T'Pol melded her hand
to his cheek again and, shutting her eyes, she felt
content.



End

--
Forwarded to ASCL by:
Stephen Ratliff
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