Enterprise Ficathon

Assignments sent!

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:40:04 GMT

All of the assignments should now be sent out. Please let me know if you haven't gotten yours, so I can send it immediately. Otherwise, happy writing!

Sign-ups closed.

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 20:19:14 GMT

Sign-ups for Round 5 are now closed. Assignements will be sent out today and tomorrow.

Don't forget to sign up as a beta reader if you're interested.

Beta reader sign-ups!

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 20:41:40 GMT

Sign-ups for Round 5 will be closed in about 24 hours! Make sure to sign up now if you haven't yet.

I've also had a few offers to beta read from people signing up, so I've decided to have a beta reader sign up page to help match up beta readers with writers.

If you would like to be a beta reader for entficathon, please comment to this post using the following form:

Name: (Only necessary if you have no LJ.)
Email:
Strengths:
Preferences:
Won't Read:
Time needed:
Email or comment?:

Strengths: What are you good at as a beta reader?
Preferences: What sort of story would you most like to beta read?
Won't Read: What will you absolutely not beta read?
Time needed: How much time do you require before the posting deadline to beta read?
Email or comment?: Would you like writers to send you an email or reply to your comment in this post in order to contact you?

Example:
Email: myname[at]email[dot]com
Strengths: Grammar, canon, characterization, finding plot holes.
Preferences: Tucker/Reed, slash, het, friendship.
Won't Read: Non-con.
Time needed: Two days during the week, one day during the weekend.
Email or comment?: Comment preferred, but either is fine.

If you are looking for a beta reader, check the comments of this post. Make sure to pay attention to what the beta reader is willing to read. Remember, you are requesting a beta. Don't send your story to anyone without asking first, and they are free to decline for whatever reason.

I will link to this post again when we're a bit closer to the deadline.

Round 5 Sign-Ups: CLOSED

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 03:53:56 GMT

Rules:
1) Deadline for sign-ups is June 15th, 2008.
2) Deadline for posting stories is September 15th, 2008. (If you know of any major fandom events that would take place around this date, please tell me, and I'll shift the date.)
3) TURN YOUR STORIES IN ON TIME. Warn me if something comes up and you absolutely can't.
4) Stories should be at least 1,000 words long.
5) Please have someone look over your story. Beta-readers are good for you. If you cannot find a beta reader, revise it thoroughly yourself.
6) All questions should be directed to babelbabble[at]gmail[dot]com
7) You must be willing to write at least two pairings. I know that some writers have OTPs (one true pairing) or prefer to write gen, but it's impossible to match up requests and writers if everyone is overly specific about what they won't write. I've added preferences to the sign-up form to help me match you up as best as I can.

Suggestions:
1) On how to handle rule 7 if you are an OTPer or gen writer. If you only write your favorite pairing, choose a pairing which doesn't conflict with your favorite and include your own pairing in the background of the request. If you prefer to write gen, make the romantic pairing a subplot to a gen-like story. A lot of people who enjoy a pairing don't mind seeing them within in a plot (in fact, some of us prefer it that way). Either way I will do my best to find a request that matches your preferences.
2) Factor in beta reading time. Get your story finished early and beta read early.
3) If you have serious issues finding a beta reader, contact me and I'll beta your story. Keep in mind that I have a story to write too (and, you know, real work), so don't ask unless you really need a beta reader.

To sign up, fill out the following form:

E-mail:
Story 1:
Story 2:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Preferences:
Won't write:
Pinch hit?:

Email - Simply include an email where I will send your assignment, questions from your writer, etc. when the time comes.
Story 1 and Story 2 - Choose a pairing, situation, genre, rating, etc. that you would like to see in your story. See below for notes about how to format your request.
Strengths - What kind of stories do you have experience with and/or know that you're good with?
Weaknesses - What kind of stories do you feel you would have trouble writing?
Preferences - What are your favorite stories to write?
Won't Write - What you absolutely refuse to write. Please include as few story elements as possible.
Pinch Hit? - Are you willing to write another story on short notice if someone drops out? Yes or No only, please. If you say no now and change your mind, you will have another chance if we don't have enough pinch hitters.

An example of a request is:

E-mail: anemailaddress [at] emailprovider [dot] com
Story 1: Tucker&Reed, set somewhere between Terra Prime (2155) and These Are the Voyages (2161).
Story 2: Archer/Tucker angst with a happy ending.
Strengths: Action/adventure, slash romance, friendships, canon.
Weaknesses: Het romance, politics, sap.
Preferences: Friendships, Archer/Tucker, Tucker&Reed.
Won't write: NC-17, non-canon mpreg, crossovers.
Pinch Hit?: Yes

Be specific, but also try to be open to writing something a little new or different. If you don't have an LJ, go ahead and comment anonymously to this post. Just make sure to include your name.

Nag your friends to join with you! The more the merrier.

Remember, questions go to babelbabble[at]gmail[dot]com

Just to let everyone know...

Sun, 25 May 2008 17:16:29 GMT

The sign-ups for Round Five will begin on June 5th. Make sure to watch the community for more information!

So ...

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 13:48:04 GMT

... does anyone fancy doing it again this year? Or are we all off doing other things?

ETA: I've heard from

babel, and she says she plans to run it again in the summer.

Growing Pains

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 22:34:22 GMT

I have - finally! - finished the my story for Surya. Only six months late - sorry.

I've asked dilly to post it here for me, since I have no idea how to do that. Or it can be read in the Warp 5 Archive:

http://fiction.entstcommunity.org/index.php

I have a short Trip story

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 00:59:22 GMT

I was wondering if I could post it here?

Thanks!

FIC: Doppelganger (Tucker/Reed, NC-17)

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 16:30:38 GMT

Title: Doppelganger
Author: Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)
Written for: nx_01hreod for Round 4 of the entficathon
Archive: Yes to W5C; all others, ask.
Word count: 22,432 words
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Enterprise undergoes repairs in the Delphic Expanse, Reed finds himself the target of a sinister double with unclear motives.
Beta: Kathy Rose and wpadmirer
Prompt: nx_01hreod asked for Tu/R, Mirror Universe with Major Reed, angst and as happy an ending as possible!
Spoilers: This ep takes place in the Delphic Expanse during Season 3 sometime after 2.26 "The Expanse" and before 3.24 "Zero Hour." This story will spoil future ep 4.18–4.19 "In A Mirror, Darkly."
AN: This is Mirror Universe going the other way, but I hope it works!

Click on the link above to read the fic at my Web site. It's too long to post here in a single post.

FIC: Doppelganger Part 1 (Tucker/Reed)

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 20:04:22 GMT

EDIT to add: I am pretty close to done, so I'm just going to post the whole thing, complete, all at once, instead of torturing you with parts. Thanks for the FB here, which really gave me that push to continue! —kl

EDIT AGAIN to add: I am done, and it's in beta. I'm on the road; I'll revise and post just as soon as I can. —kl

Title: Doppelganger Part 1
Author: Kylie Lee (kylielee1000)
Written for: nx_01hreod
Archive: No. I will archive it myself later, when complete.
Word count: Part 1 clocks in at 2,222 words
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Enterprise undergoes repairs in the Delphic Expanse, Reed finds himself the target of a sinister double with unclear motives.
Prompt: nx_01hreod asked for Tu/R, Mirror Universe with Major Reed, angst and as happy an ending as possible!
Spoilers: This ep takes place in the Delphic Expanse during Season 3 sometime after 2.26 "The Expanse" and can be construed as filling in missing time before 3.02 "Anomaly." This story will spoil future ep 4.18–4.19 "In A Mirror, Darkly."
AN: This is Mirror Universe going the other way, but I hope it works! Apologies for my lateness. I've been forced to post in parts in order to get it done.

Part 1

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed crossed his arms as he paced, surveying his team's work. "Not bad. It'll do," he said critically.

His grudging praise made a MACO turn away to hide a smile, and Reed frowned. He couldn't get used to the MACOs. In fact, he was fairly sure that their presence wasn't required on board ship, but the decision had been made by the higher-ups, against Reed's formal objections. They were peaceful explorers, not soldiers, and although Reed was as concerned with security as Captain Jonathan Archer—more so, to be honest, Reed thought to himself—a completely different group on board ship, with a completely different chain of command, was not the way to go. The fact that they were at war with the aliens who had cut a swath on Earth from Florida to Venezuela made teamwork all the more important, in Reed's view. It certainly didn't help that the de facto leader of the MACOs, Major Hayes, was an arrogant bastard, General Casey's assurances regarding the preparedness of the MACOs notwithstanding.

"I'll have someone from Engineering integrate this into the power system," he continued. "Ford, Lee, cross-check the couplings. The rest of you can take a break."

"About time," one of the low-level security techs muttered, but he had the grace to look abashed when Reed glared at him.

"Just be sure to see Doctor Phlox first, to get your implants," Reed reminded them. He turned, just in time to see Trip Tucker and the ship's first officer, T'Pol, hurry by. "Commander Tucker!" Reed called to the chief engineer. "Sub-Commander T'Pol," he added, and he and T'Pol exchanged nods. "Just the man I want to see, if the Sub-Commander can spare you. It's about the power boost for the transporter."

T'Pol inclined her head. "Of course. Commander, if you could find me when you're done."

"Sure thing." Tucker, looking harried, turned to Reed as T'Pol continued on. "You took care of the power supply problem?"

Reed, who felt as harried as Tucker looked, indicated the poles, set in a rough circle off to one side of the huge cave they were using as their central base. "The poles are set, and routed the power through a transducer. It should work. But I particularly wanted you to check it for safety before I initiate the test run."

"Good idea." Tucker took a look around and pointed. "Is that the control panel there? Lead on." The two men trooped to the wall of the cave, where Reed had jury-rigged a command area. "It's not like we'll be sending people down," Tucker noted as he bent over the console. "Just cargo. Let's see." Reed watched him frown. He could see the faint red cut at the base of Tucker's skull, where Doctor Phlox had placed the tracking implant. He rubbed his own cut absently. It still stung. They had been his idea, so crew members could be tracked in case they got lost in the maze of caves. Tucker continued, "This looks fine. Let me scan the hardware."

Reed followed a pace or two behind Tucker as Tucker began his scans. He was careful to stay out of Tucker's personal space, something he'd started doing ever since Tucker's sister, Elizabeth, had died a month or so ago in the Xindi attack, Tucker had grown distant and unapproachable. Reed missed their gym dates, informal as they had been, and their meals together. Tucker suddenly seemed unavailable, but it was more than just not being around. Tucker had also grown emotionally distant. He'd begun spending more time with T'Pol. Reed had even heard rumors that Tucker had been seen leaving T'Pol's quarters late at night. He'd been disturbed to hear that—more disturbed than he wanted to let on.

Reed tamped down that thought and focused on their predicament. It wasn't like he could do anything about those feelings. Tucker was his superior officer, after all. "Any word on the decompressions on board Enterprise?"

Tucker shook his head. "Nope. The captain checked in about twenty minutes ago. Travis stabilized the orbit. They won't be falling on top of us anytime soon. But they can't get life support online. They're all in EVA suits up there."

Reed grimaced in sympathy. The EVA suits were notoriously hot, bulky, and uncomfortable. "At least we found a planet with a breathable atmosphere. I'm sure we'll be on our way in just a few days," he said, trying for an injection of hope. "Are you feeling all right, sir?" he added as Tucker grimaced and pinched his nose.

"Fine." Tucker didn't look fine, but Reed knew better than to press him. He'd get no information from this new, distant Tucker. "Just a headache." He turned to his scanner, suddenly very focused on its readouts. "For these couplings, I'd suggest a grade 3 link, not a grade 2. That'll help it avoid a surge."

Reed nodded and made a note. He'd have to requisition it from the ship.

"Other than that, good work." Tucker pocketed his scanner. This time, when he looked at Reed, it was the old, familiar Tucker again, and Reed felt a surge of hope as Tucker quirked a smile at him, even though it was obvious that Tucker was trying too hard. It seemed they'd have to start again with their hard-won camaraderie. "I'd have security on my team in engineering any day." He surveyed the cave, craning his head back to look up. The top was barely visible in the bad light, despite the light poles they'd rigged. "We've got power and supplies down here, so starting tomorrow, I'll be back on board, trying to figure out what's going on—why we can't sustain life support on Enterprise."

"It's this region of space. If we could clear it—" The Delphic Expanse wreaked havoc on Enterprise's systems.

"First things first. Let's focus on getting life support back on board Enterprise." Tucker rubbed the back of his neck absently. "This implant isn't doing my headache any good," he complained.

"If you require my assistance on board ship—" Reed began.

Tucker was already shaking his head. "The captain needs you here, keeping everything going here while we're on board Enterprise, trying to fix this mess." He indicated T'Pol with his eyes; she was in conference with a small cluster of crew members. "T'Pol does fine, but you know how it is."

Reed, remembering the rumors about Tucker and T'Pol, resisted the urge to say, "No, how is it?" He contented himself with a noncommittal, "Of course, sir." He'd rather have the captain down on the barren rock they were calling a planet, with T'Pol handling the problems on board Enterprise caused by their foray into the Delphic Expanse, than vice versa, but he understood that the captain's priority was the ship, while the first officer's was traditionally to liaison with the crew, even if the first officer was a Vulcan with an overreliance on logic.

"At least we've got a lot of room here," Tucker continued, glancing around the huge chamber. "Have you had a problem with anyone wandering off?"

"The caves are extensive," Reed admitted. "Doctor Phlox is still chipping everyone." He rubbed the back of his neck, mirroring Tucker's gesture of a moment ago. He fancied he could feel the tracking microchip underneath the skin, but of course he couldn't. The small tracker would be absorbed by his body in about three weeks' time. By then, he fervently hoped, Enterprise would have regained life support and they would have resumed their mission in the Expanse. "Everyone's on guard," he added. "I've instituted a buddy system. People have made camp in groups of three or more. I have several security personnel ready to do head counts at meals."

Tucker grinned. "Have you heard Chef complaining?"

Reed grinned back. The old Tucker was in there somewhere. He just needed time to grieve for Elizabeth. "I have indeed. You'd think cooking over fire had never been done before."

"Somehow, I think he'll manage." Tucker's smile faded as quickly as it had come. "T'Pol's waving at me. Are we done here?"

"Yes. I'll upgrade the couplings and contact you so we can run a trial."

Tucker gave a half-wave. "Sounds good."

Reed watched Tucker stride across the cave's floor toward T'Pol without a backward glance. He really was oblivious of Reed's interest in him. Well, that was his own fault, wasn't it? First, he hadn't wanted to ruin their friendship. Then the Xindi attack had happened, and suddenly, he was too late. If the rumors were true, and if Tucker had turned to T'Pol—well, it didn't bear thinking about. If he were a betting man, he wouldn't place his money either way. He rather thought that things were currently platonic, but he also thought they probably wouldn't stay that way.

Reed sighed, then found Ford and Lee, who were running a diagnostic on the power interface. "Commander Tucker wants grade 3 couplings for the direct power lines," he ordered. "Please place the order with the quartermaster and inform me when they're in place. We can't do a trial of the transporter system until it's done. And I don't need to tell you how much we need the cargo transporter online."

"No, sir." Lee looked confused. "I mean, yes, sir."

"Back to work," Reed ordered, just as his communicator chirped. He frowned as he flipped it open. It was probably Archer with a request for a status report. "Reed," he snapped.

"Mr. Reed, there's a problem in one of the caves that the crew are using as quarters," an unfamiliar voice said through the heavy static that Reed had almost—but not quite—grown accustomed to. "Uh, white cave, I think, third turnoff to the right and then straight through."

Reed frowned. The voice, which seemed strangely familiar but which he couldn't immediately place, had a North American accent, but something seemed off.

"Just a minor altercation," the voice continued. "If you could, uh, come by yourself and break it up? I think your presence ought to do it."

MACOs versus security again? Reed wondered. Just what he needed—another scuffle. "On my way. Reed out." He pivoted to get his bearings, then headed for the cave complex, flagged with a daub of white paint over the entryway to distinguish it from the other caves that honeycombed the area. Two other cave complexes had been marked: blue and green. The rest of the honeycombs were off limits. The sheer number of caves meant that it was ridiculously easy to get turned around, so Reed had ordered paint strategically daubed in the cave systems so people could figure out where they were. Between that and the chipping, they hoped to avoid losing people in the caves.

The lighter gravity of the small planetoid meant he covered ground quickly. He'd perfected a kind of a half walk, half leap that meant in the lower caves, his head was in danger if he didn't control himself. At least work took his mind off his brooding about Tucker—the poor man had been through a horrible ordeal. Reed should be more understanding.

"Third turnoff to the right," Reed muttered. He stepped around a few piled bedrolls, but nobody was around. "One, two, and this must be three." He hesitated by the entryway; the lack of paint meant that the area was off-limits. He mentally shrugged before continuing: people would still wander off, and if he got lost, all he had to do was stay put. Someone could track him if he was missed. "Hulloah!" he called, sweeping his handheld light from side to side.

"Mr. Reed?" the voice said, and it struck Reed that he wasn't being addressed by his title, as he ought to be.

"Yes?" Reed cautiously poked his head into the next cave, only to throw up an arm as a light flashed into his eyes. "Your torch, man!" he said reprovingly. "You're blinding me."

"Sorry," the man's voice said, only now, instead of the North American accent, Reed heard an English one.

The light moved down, and Reed dropped his arm, dazzled eyes squinting. "I see the problem's resolved itself," Reed offered, but every sense was on the alert: the crewmen were gone. No MACOs or security personnel were in evidence.

"Resolved itself?" the voice asked blankly.

Reed frowned. "The altercation," he reminded the man. Although he'd just reproved him for shining a light into his eyes, he swung his own light up.

"Ah, yes. That."

Reed froze as the light touched the edge of the man's face. "How—who—" he managed. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble. He'd been lured here. That much was clear. But why?

"I'm afraid that the altercation is happening now."

The man—himself, Malcolm Reed, but a Malcolm Reed with a goatee, a sardonic smile, and some kind of rather large weapon trained on Reed—shrugged apologetically, and a moment later, the weapon fired.

Reed crumpled to the ground, conscious but unable to move. Surely he must have been seeing things in the dark. Surely he couldn't have seen—

No. In the light that flared a moment later from a lamp lit and set on the floor, he saw a man who could be his twin. Reed tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He literally couldn't move.

"I'm afraid I'll need this," the man said, tugging Reed's uniform briefly before he found the zip. "And a shave, I'm afraid. Pity. I'd rather gotten used to this goatee. I'm Major Reed, by the way." He leaned in close. Reed didn't like what he saw in those glittering eyes. "And I'm here because you have something I need."

FIC: riyeht-staya (PG13)

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 19:12:14 GMT

title: riyeht-staya
author: medie
Length: 21,275
Pairing: None
Category: Gen
Rating: pg13
Archive: nowhere right now
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of it's concepts and characters.
Beta: anr and havocthecat
Summary: with the right reason, even a Vulcan may murder...
Spoilers: 2.07 "The Seventh"
Written for: babel who asked for T'Pol, mystery/action adventure with Archer interaction *and* I was even able to put in a bit of the other request and set it very shortly after "The Seventh"
Note: As it relates to Skon, this story does try to incorporate his appearance in the novel "The Lives of Dax" at least partially. The canon conflicts a bit with Enterprise but it's tweakable. This story is horribly late and, oh god I've never been this late on a ficathon before but, well, 21,000 words! Gah.

Translation: riyeht-staya: the unlawful killing of one Vulcan by another, especially with premeditated malice found in two online Vulcan Language Dictionaries (which rule massively)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

new: "After the Roughhousing" 1/1 pg13

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 14:24:59 GMT

sorry its late.

--------------------------------------
Title: After the Roughhousing.
Rating: PG13 for one word of anatomy.

Challenge: Trip and Malcolm take a friendly competition too far, while T’Pol and Hoshi watch their respective men make fools of themselves.
Short Summary: Playing around can be dangerous, especially when you’re in the company of a territorial species.

Pairings: Malcolm/Hoshi, Trip/T’Pol, Archeologist/Beachmaster.
Characters: Malcolm, Trip, Hoshi, T’Pol, the beachmaster, the archeologist.

Spoilers: none that I can think of offhand.

Dedicated to: JadziaKathryn, who made the challenge.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, settings, or institutions of this. I am writing this for fun & for no other reason than that.

----------------------
Stiff bristles scraped away dirt from the embedded bone. Caked and packed-down dirt was torn from its hostage it’d held for several ages. Soon, so soon...

Setting down the brush, she put her long slender fingers to work, plucking recalcitrant clumps of earth away from the bone. Almost got it, as her tiny claws picked at what had once, long long ago, been a muddy delta and was now rock and dry earth on this modern coast. So many questions would be answered. This skeleton could resolve the debate resoundingly. Almost there... and she could see the distinctive wristbones lying atop the body. Yes!

But before she could let out a bellow of victory to summon her mate and co-females and allies, something fell off the low cliff beside her, crushing the fragile fossil skeleton. She honked both in protest and alarm, her dugs instinctively retracting into her body, her babies retreating to the protective safety of one of her co-females.

The fall wasn’t even five feet, but it’d always been sufficient as a demarcation that even the most junior of bachelors could understand the significance of: no bachelor had ever *fallen* from the clifftop to the ground here, and the grannies were always too cautious to risk injury by venturing overnear an edge.

The thing that’d fallen – and it was most definitely a thing – unfolded itself, ungracefully long limbs, to a standing-up. Hearing and feeling her mate’s thunderous approach, she hissed open-mouthed at the fallen thing, her dagger-sized canines sharp and *very* visible.

Rather than slink away in retreat or respond in kind, the thing dropped to the ground, sitting on the portion of anatomy where its legs met – sitting on and breaking more fossil bones.

* * * * * *

Breathing air that was saltier than anywhere back on Earth, Hoshi exhaled through pursed lips, the one form of exhalation the locals didn’t imbue with any implications of challenging someone. Captain Archer’d wanted her to tell him – with him still aboard Enterprise and her down here – what’d brought this about. Trip had been talking with some of the bachelors in the Contact Zone – that area allotted to aliens landing and doing what they would do – and they’d started talking about play. All intelligent species played as children, but not all continued that tendency into adulthood; that’d been when Trip had mentioned that play became roughhousing...which was something that didn’t translate into any local language.

As she watched the fight between Malcolm and Trip from where she stood alongside T’Pol, Hoshi wondered just how Trip had managed to talk Malcolm – her Malcolm – into helping him demonstrate roughhousing. However he’d done it, Trip had walked that fine line between play and fighting for half an hour with Malcolm – and then he’d fallen off that little hill. The locals called it a cliff, owing to its steep sides.

“They fight well, if without any art to their movements,” the beachmaster said to Hoshi and T’Pol, looking every inch a massive seal, nose inflated yet silent, green blood visible in his bloodshot eyes. He was one of the locals, a sapient species descended from seals, and not in the least bit humanoid; they walked on flippers that’d been adapted for use walking and not swimming.

The Contact Zone was inhabited only by bachelors and grannies – respectively, men unable to hold a plot of land against intruders, and elderly women who’d had enough of the beach life. Talking with the two groups had left the people of Enterprise ill-prepared for the rest of the species.

The grannies’ own feet – modified in the species to serve as long-fingered hands – were not often used, leaving them more suited to philosophy and reflection upon the labors of their life. The younger women, those still on the beaches, used their feet-hands to build things and to unearth things – the latter being what Trip had fallen into.

“Can’t we pay them and get on our way?” Trip’d asked earlier.

“No money economy,” Malcolm had pointed out, and Hoshi’d nodded.

The beachmaster had offered a way out: lifetime indentured servitude…but Trip had refused that, point blank, thinking it was slavery. T’Pol had muttered in a Vulcan dialect at that point, grumbling that the men were fools. Hoshi was inclined to agree. I’d stay here, no problem, Hoshi mused. I’d keep Malcolm company if he chose to stay here...and I’m sure T’Pol feels the same way about Trip.

The bulls were physically closer to their ancestors’ appearance: rather like an elephant seal, only with heavier, more pillar-like front legs. Their tusks were also larger and more lethal than anything any Earth pinniped had seen in millions of years. But these bulls here were just as intelligent as their mates, even if their toes weren’t as long and their backs didn’t arch so much.

The local beachmaster – the one into whose territory Trip had fallen into – had given Trip a choice: fight with him, or fight with a proxy of him. Malcolm had stepped into that role, rather than see him crushed beneath a ton of alien mammal, Hoshi thought to herself. Neither one of the men had wanted to be the first to give in…and now neither one dared to be anything but the one who finished this.
---------------------------------
The End

Fic: Body Heat (T/R, NC17)

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 18:59:55 GMT

Title: Body Heat
Author: Surya
Category: Slash
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes.
Disclaimer: Enterprise and Star Trek belong to Paramount. No profit was made from the writing or publication of this fan fiction story. No breach of copyright is intended.
Summary: Trip, Malcolm, and the aftermath of Shuttlepod One.
Written for: Qzee, who wanted Tucker/Reed, during or post Shuttlepod One, angsty but with a happy ending.
Word count: ~2500 words
Spoilers: This story assumes the reader is familiar with the season 1 episodes ‘Shuttlepod One’ and ‘Two Days And Two Nights’.

Body Heat

“Malcolm!” Trip Tucker groaned involuntarily as his orgasm slammed into him like a runaway juggernaut. He allowed his head to roll forward onto his heaving chest and the dildo to slip out of his ass as he knelt, naked, on his bunk and rode out the storm, hips thrusting forward as each pulse of ejaculate escaped him.

God, that was intense, he thought as his racing heart began to slow, and he lifted one trembling hand to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow. He didn’t do anything about those already trickling down his back and chest and stomach. It was always intense when he thought about Malcolm, he acknowledged, stifling a pang of guilt and regret as he wiped his sticky hand against the damp skin of his thigh. He knew it was wrong to think of his friend that way, especially while he was jerking off, imagining Malcolm was there with him, the Englishman’s cock buried deep in his ass. It was especially wrong after what had happened a couple of weeks ago, when they’d been stranded together in the shuttlepod. But it seemed the more he tried to suppress his feelings for Malcolm, the more intensely erotic his fantasies about the man became.

He glanced down at his other hand, the one that still held his softening penis, and at the cum splattered on the towel he had laid out beneath him. This is ridiculous, he berated himself silently. It was getting so that he couldn’t get off without imagining Malcolm Reed’s cock up his ass.

And yet …

And yet, as intense as it was, the pleasure and the guilt, the desire and the longing commingling to produce an exquisite agony, the release he achieved was ultimately cold and empty, as empty as his bed without a warm body to lie beside him, as empty as his heart had felt that day on the shuttlepod with Malcolm.

Trip closed his eyes as he remembered. Remembered the way Malcolm had readily crawled into his arms once they’d finally agreed that sharing their body heat would probably be a good idea. Remembered the sweet sensation of Malcolm’s strong arms encircling him under the blankets. Remembered the smell of the other man as he’d rubbed his chilled face against Malcolm’s neck. Remembered the way Malcolm’s lips had felt - so cold! - under his when Trip had leaned in and gently, chastely kissed him.

“Er … Trip?” Malcolm had slurred, raising his head to blink blearily up at him. “You know I’m straight, right?”

At least he didn’t seem angry or upset, Trip had thought through a fuzzy, alcoholic haze. “I know,” he’d replied softly, thinking about the endless farewell messages to ex-girlfriends Malcolm had recorded earlier. How could he be anything but straight? But it didn’t stop Trip wanting him.

Malcolm had muttered something more as he burrowed his way back down into Trip’s chest, but Trip didn’t catch what he’d said. It didn’t matter anyway. They would most likely be dead in a few hours, and as last moments went, this wasn’t a bad one, sitting here with Malcolm snuggled up against him. At least he’d gotten to kiss Malcolm once, even if it had proved to be unwelcome. Only a short time later Malcolm had slipped into unconsciousness, and Trip had soon followed, still holding the other man, still wondering if either of them would ever wake up again.

Trip sighed, lost in memory, as he discarded the towel and slid down into his cold, empty bed.

He’d been afraid Malcolm might pull away from him after the shuttlepod incident, retreat once more behind his ‘perfect officer’ façade, but to his surprise and relief that hadn’t happened. If anything Malcolm seemed to respond more eagerly to his overtures of friendship, and had even made some of his own. He genuinely seemed to enjoy spending time with Trip, and actively sought him out and cultivated their friendship. And when the two-day shore leave on Risa had been announced, he’d readily agreed to join Trip on a little ‘cultural exploration’.

But Trip couldn’t help wondering how Malcolm would feel if he knew about Trip’s private, erotic fantasies and unrequited longings.

~~~

Trip shifted uncomfortably on the shuttlepod’s bench seat, pulling his complimentary robe more closely around him and trying surreptitiously to adjust his underwear without any of the other passengers noticing. Especially not Malcolm.

Shore leave had been a bust. Trip had tried so hard to be just a friend, to simply enjoy spending time in Malcolm’s company, to give the other man what he’d so obviously wanted; a few drinks and a date with a couple of nice, compliant local women, hopefully leading to some uncomplicated sex. Instead they’d ended up robbed, stripped to their underwear and trussed up like a couple of prize turkeys in the basement of a nightclub. Malcolm had not been pleased.

Trip let his eyes wander across to the opposite bench where Malcolm was sitting, wrapped in a matching robe. He was laughing at something Hoshi had said, sparks of light dancing in his grey eyes. He was so beautiful, Trip sighed inwardly. So unattainable.

Trust me to fall for the straightest man in the universe, he thought. And it was love he felt for Malcolm, he was certain of that now. The initial attraction he’d felt for the shy, reserved Englishman had grown into something much more complicated and important. At first he’d thought he was simply on the rebound after the Dear John letter he’d received from Natalie, but the shuttlepod had taught him otherwise. He’d been fully prepared to give up his life to save Malcolm’s. And Malcolm had pulled a phase pistol on him, yelling that him he’d rather they both died than have that burden on his soul. It was the defining moment of their relationship. Hence the kiss. Hence Trip’s aching heart.

He abruptly shook himself out of his reverie, aware that he’d been staring at Malcolm while he was lost in his own melancholy thoughts. And as his surroundings snapped back into focus he found Malcolm gazing speculatively back at him, a small, slightly bemused smile curving on his lips.

Rostov, piloting, quickly completed the docking procedure, but when the hatch popped open Trip hung back, allowing Jon, Hoshi and Malcolm to precede him out of the pod. When he left the launch bay, trying to maintain as much dignity as he could while padding through the ship barefoot and wearing only his underwear and a robe, he was surprised to find Malcolm falling into step beside him. Well, he supposed, their quarters were on the same deck. It made sense to ride the turbolift together.

“Safety in numbers,” Malcolm quipped, as if reading his mind.

The ride to B-deck was mercifully short, and the ‘lift didn’t stop to pick up any other passengers on the way. Trip was relieved to find the corridors en route to his quarters similarly empty. Malcolm stood inscrutably beside him as he keyed the entry code to his cabin, and then, when the door slid open, surprised him once more by following him inside.

Confused, Trip turned to find Malcolm standing behind him, barely a step away. “Malcolm?”

“We really are a couple of twits, aren’t we?” Malcolm said, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

“Yeah, I guess,” Trip mumbled, suddenly mesmerised by something new in Malcolm’s eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would have called it desire.

“There we were, chasing that pair of bimbos,” Malcolm continued, moving closer until they were almost touching, “when all either of us really wanted was this.”

Trip could feel the heat radiating from Malcolm’s body, the tickle of his breath as he came closer, and then Malcolm’s mouth was on his, one hand sliding up behind his head to guide him down into the kiss while the other snaked around his waist to pull him closer, finally bringing their bodies together. Trip was momentarily startled as Malcolm’s soft, wet lips made contact with his own, but then he relaxed into the kiss, closing his eyes and opening his mouth as he felt Malcolm’s questing tongue flicker across his lips, seeking entry. Trip returned the kiss with fervour, pouring all his pent up longing into it, wrapping his arms tightly around the warm body pressed against his. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of; the ache, the longing finally quelled as he gave himself up to this wonderful moment, but there was still a nagging doubt, that conversation in the shuttlepod niggling at the back of his mind, and he slowly, reluctantly pulled away, raising his head so that he could gaze into Malcolm’s stormy grey eyes.

“Malcolm, why …?” he whispered, licking at his lips, tasting Malcolm on them. “You said you were straight.” Malcolm was stroking his thumb rhythmically across the short hairs at the nape of Trip’s neck, making it difficult to think straight, let alone speak.

“I also said I was open to persuasion.” Malcolm smiled up at him. “You’ve persuaded me,” he added, as if that explained everything.

Hope flared, and Trip shook his head in confusion. That must have been the remark he hadn’t heard, but still … “I don’t understand.”

Malcolm blushed appealingly. “I am straight - mostly,” he qualified. “I’ve only ever had relationships with women. Men were … only when I was much younger. And they were always just for sex.”

“Oh.” Trip’s soaring heart suddenly plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He wanted sex with Malcolm - of course he did - but he also wanted more. Much, much more.

“But I didn’t want it to be like that with you,” Malcolm went on. “You’re …” he searched for the right word, “… important to me.”

And Trip could breathe again. He leaned forward, and this time the kiss was gentle, exploring, each of them savouring this new experience. Trip moaned softly as he felt his body respond to Malcolm’s nearness, his heart pounding, blood singing in his ears, his cock stiffening until it strained against his underwear, as if trying to break free.

There was a brief fumbling, and then Trip gasped as hot flesh met hot flesh, both their briefs pulled down and Malcolm’s penis bumping gently against his own. Trip gazed at his friend - his new lover, he amended - wonder and delight and anticipation intermingling in his heart.

“You want this?” he whispered, seeking confirmation in words as well as actions.

“I do,” Malcolm murmured, his eyes dark with passion.

Trip swooped in to reclaim Malcolm’s lips, kissing him with a passion and intensity he’d never known before, losing himself in it until the world receded and there was only Malcolm: Malcolm’s lips pressed against his, Malcolm’s tongue dancing eagerly in his mouth, winding sensuously around his, and their bodies slowly melting into each other.

He kissed Malcolm deeply, devouring him, exploring every crevice of his mouth, leaving no place untouched, and when at last he drew back to gasp a breath, Malcolm followed, licking at his lips and his chin, and the kiss became a wet, slobbering affair involving lips and teeth and hands threading through short strands of hair.

“Trip,” Malcolm said at last, his voice a low, husky whisper, “what do you want?”

Trip swallowed hard. Now that the moment had come he was almost afraid to tell Malcolm what he’d fantasised about all these weeks. But Malcolm had come to him of his own volition, prepared to try something new and different and oh so precious. He deserved honesty.

“I want you to make love to me,” Trip whispered back, kissing Malcolm’s slightly stubbly cheek.

He closed his eyes as Malcolm’s lips returned to his. The kiss was tender this time, slow and sweet, Malcolm’s tongue gently caressing his and his strong, agile fingers stroking Trip’s neck.

And then those wonderful hands were under his robe, slipping it off his shoulders until it fell to the floor, removing his singlet, and finally sliding his briefs down his legs until they too dropped to the floor.

He revelled in the sensation of Malcolm touching him, of warm hands playing over his bare skin, palms sliding over his arms and shoulders, running down his back, gently squeezing his ass, and then fingertips brushing lightly over the tops of his thighs as they came around to grasp and carefully stroke his penis.

“Mal,” Trip moaned, bereft as Malcolm took one step back, but then he gasped as Malcolm quickly shed his own robe and underwear.

Trip turned, leaning forward across his desk, spreading his legs, inviting. He felt Malcolm’s body heat as he came up behind him, then skin against skin as Malcolm snaked his arms around Trip’s torso and pressed himself against his back, and the sweet sensation of Malcolm’s erection nuzzling into the cleft between his buttocks.

He instinctively pushed back a little, trying to encourage Malcolm to take him, but Malcolm remained still, stroking and caressing Trip’s chest and stomach while placing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Trip, darling,” Malcolm murmured huskily, “as much as I love your back, I’d much prefer we do this so that we can see each other.”

Man is the only animal that copulates face to face, Trip was sure he remembered reading somewhere. Yes, because it could be so much better that way. Silently he turned and took Malcolm’s hand, leading him over to the bed. He flopped down onto it, smiling invitingly as he allowed his legs to fall open.

An answering smile quirked Malcolm’s lips. “Much better,” he breathed as he swooped down for another kiss.

~~~

“Stay,” Trip whispered, curling himself around Malcolm’s warm body as he lay, sated, beside him in the narrow bunk. Their lovemaking had been a revelation: Malcolm, intense and passionate, taking Trip to incredible heights and then, just when Trip knew he couldn’t take any more, sending him tumbling over the precipice before, moments later, joining him.

“I can’t, love,” Malcolm said softly, turning to face him.

“The bed’s too cold without you.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I could lie here like this for ever, my darling, but we were supposed to be changing into our uniforms, remember? We’ll be breaking orbit in a couple of hours, once everyone’s back on board. We both have duty shifts.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Trip said, a little sadly. They had been magical, these stolen moments making love with Malcolm, and he was suddenly afraid a return to their normal routine would somehow break the spell.

Malcolm’s expression softened into a warm smile as he cupped Trip’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone.

“Tell you what,” Malcolm murmured. “Come to my quarters after your shift.” He grinned. “And you can warm my bed tonight.”

~end~

A/N: I stole … er, borrowed one of my favourite song lyrics for this fic.

“I am not in love
But I’m open to persuasion …”
Love and Affection - Joan Armatrading

Rain Dance, Tucker - Reed

Thu, 07 Jun 2007 18:15:13 GMT

Title: Rain Dance
Author: Qzeebrella
Archive: Entstslash
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise
Rating: G
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Summary: Trip teaches Malcolm to hope and Malcolm returns the favor
Written for:sal_at_home story 2:Tucker/Reed - something sweet and sappy and a little angsty ... with a happy ending!
Beta: jenniferlupin who I asked to check only for general feel/is it complete?
Spoilers: um... just the fact that the Xindi exist and what they did to Trip's sister.
Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to Paramount. No profit is being made from this story and no infringement is intended.
Author’s notes: inspired by kayjayuu's link to a definition of rain, as well as what encyclopedias say about it. A series of fifteen drabbles, several of them 101 words, only one or two being exactly 100 words. Total 1537 words, including the titles for each drabble. Hope you like it Sal.

Parched

My mouth is so very dry, it’s aching. The constant thirst haunting me as I try to continue on.

Placing one foot in front of another in an endless drudgery. Struggling against the desire to lay down and quit fighting. Struggling to continue on in the brutal, arid environment. No shelter to be found, with nothing to quench the all powerful thirst for love. So very powerful is the thirst that I chase after every drop of affection grudgingly offered to me. I even shamelessly offer all that I am for even a hint of affection, but I always go wanting.

***
Thirst

Every now and then, I hope that love will rain upon me. That love will fill all the empty reservoirs in my heart and soul. That love will quench the unbearable thirst I have lived with all my life. A thirst my parents were not equipped to ease given their utter inability to express affection even to each other.

Which resulted in me seeking affection elsewhere. Hoping to find someone who would understand how very much I needed to be loved and to be greeted with a smile. But it soon seemed that no such person was to be found anywhere.

***
Drop

Almost always my hopes were dashed into tiny pieces. Leaving me shattered and forlorn. Yet there was something in me that still hoped that I would find someone who longed to express affection as much as I longed to experience it.

So I chased after whispy, barely there hints of affection until I could chase no more. Tired and weary, parched and bitter, I began to do all I could to keep my heart safe by chasing away everyone who tried to get too close. I swatted away every drop of affection offered to me, even as I thirsted for it.

***
Evaporating

Soon I began to be wary of every hint of affection. So very sure that it would evaporate if I dared to reach out for it, as it had so many countless times before. I even resolved to become content with my arid, barren life. I resolved to live without affection, without meaningful relationships, without all the things I longed for.

For the most part I was successful, trudging through each day like a perfect soldier. Doing my best to become the automaton my parents conditioned me to be. I went through life just existing. Then I met Trip.

***
Precipitation

Every time he saw me, he smiled. His eyes glowing with pleasure, almost as if overflowing with happiness at seeing me. Every smile dropped into my life just when I needed it the most. Refreshing my parched soul and renewing my hope.

Each smile precipitated an upswelling of joy within my heart. A joy that I soaked myself in. I began to do everything within my power to make him smile so that I could drink in the joy I saw within his gorgeous blue eyes.

His smile should have been enough for me, yet I still thirsted for more.

***
Sprinkle

With every smile hope grew within my heart. Hope that the smiles would lead to more. I began to keep a careful eye out for promising developments and that was when I noticed how often Trip was nearby.

It seemed almost as if every time I looked up, there he would be. Hovering behind me at my station, or offering to assist me in the armoury, or asking if he could join me in the mess hall.

I began to expect each day to be sprinkled with frequent sightings of him and I began to look forward to seeing him.

***
Rain

I became so used to seeing him every day that I slowly began to trust that he would be there for me when I needed him. That I would never have to go thirsty for company or affection again. And I tried so very hard to be satisfied with the friendship he freely offered to me, but something within me refused to settle for it.

I began to push for more by seeking him out. By asking him to join me in the gym or for a movie and he greeted each invitation as enthusiastically as a flower greets the rain.

***
Shower

Every time we met I was able to store a little bit of hope into my reservoir. To live off of in the times Trip would not be near and I would experience a drought of affection again.

So even though I began to wonder why my reservoir of hope was not overflowing now that I was able to add it every day, I still was not able to trust that the stored hope would be enough to sustain me.

Nor was I content with what I had. I still longed to be showered with love and affection. Preferably Trip’s.

***
Scattered Touches

To my delight I began to receive more than I ever dreamed of as Trip began to touch me.

First it was just a light touch of his hand upon my shoulder, then it was a brief touch to my hand as we talked. Soon the touches scattered throughout the day as we saw each other. These scattered touches slowly morphed into soft caresses exchanged upon greeting.

Every day I was treated to a constant drizzle of touches. Touches that soothed a deep ache inside of me that I had not known was there. Touches that began to soothe my thirst.

***
Thunder

With every day the touches became more frequent and more tender. Each one seeming to linger just a little longer than necessary. Each one enriching my live a little bit at a time.

I became a little bit more confident and sure. I learned how to open up to others so they could get close to me. I even slowly learned how to like myself.

It finally seemed as if the forecast for happiness in my life was good. Then the Xindi came and in their wake Trip lashed out at me with thunderous words. Doing his best to chase me away.

***
Storm

I refused to go. In fact I dug in and prepared for a siege. Wanting to be there for Trip when he was ready to let go of his anger and to finally mourn his loss.

At first I tried to reach out to him in the same way we had been reaching out to each other by talking with him and touching him. But his rage was still storming out of control and I got caught in the backlash.

So I retreated and regrouped before trying again using the same methods Trip used on me. Patience, gentleness, friendship and smiles.

***
Weep

I started slowly by nodding at him as we passed each other in the corridor. By sitting with him in the mess hall. By going to Engineering and lending a hand when I could. By being in the gym when I knew would be there.

I became a master at knowing just when to smile ever so slightly and when to just touch his hand without smiling. Doing all I could to help him by being there for him just as he had always been there for me. And finally one day he came to me and the floodgates opened.

***
Torrent

I held him as he poured out his anguish at his sister’s death upon my shoulder. Providing him with a safe harbour in in the face of the torrential grief sweeping over him.

I could not help but be glad that he was finally allowing himself to mourn. That he was allowing himself to cry and let all the pain out. That he had turned to me in his time of need.

I felt privileged to be there for the man who taught me to hope and awed to be holding the man who taught me how to love.

***
Sunshine

We talked for awhile, Trip telling me about what his sister was like and how much he loved her. He even smiled again, a little, as he told me about the time she put chocolate pudding in his bed. I even got him to laugh a bit when I told him about the time Maddy and I battled Godzilla and won. And with his laughter, the sun came out, shining upon us. Our shared reminiscences warming us both.

I rejoiced at every smile he showered upon me then. Storing each away in my memory and allowing them to fill my heart.

***
Flood

Slowly we began to get back to where we had been before the Xindi came. Back to spending as much time together, talking and laughing with each other. We returned to smiling at each other and touching each other whenever we met. Soon we found delight in each other’s company again.

Then something changed. One day Trip turned to me and cupped my face with his hand, looking at me tenderly. Then he kissed me gently and my heart flooded with happiness. I held him close and savoured the kiss, allowing myself to hope that I had found lasting love.

FIC: Desert Sanctuary

Wed, 06 Jun 2007 23:58:01 GMT

Title: Desert Sanctuary
Author: nyruserra
Pairing: Hoshi/Malcom, Hoshi/T'Pol
Rating: R
Words: around 1200
Written for: hogwartsduchess , who requested:
Story 2: Reed/Sato - I'm open to any locale or premise as long as there is some serious angst in them getting together...just an angsty romance.
Archive: Warp 5
Summary: The heat of the desert scoured everything, bleaching until there was no longer a line between remembered and forgotten.

A/N: This just goes to prove, once again, that you can't fight the story that wants to be written. This may not have been what you had in mind as a romance, but the angst is there in spades...I hope you enjoy, darling <3

Desert Sanctuary

The air in her quarters was spicy and weighed in Hoshi’s lungs, like hull plating. Somewhere she thought she heard chimes, but it was far off, much further then the close walls of the cramped quarters allowed for. Sometimes she thought it was in her blood. She would have wondered why she thought that, if she ever remembered afterward.

When rational thoughts returned, late in the Gamma shift, when the cooling sheets no longer held the residual heat of her lover’s body, she would bury her head in frustration, and struggle to make sense of what was happening, what could be happening. The thoughts will quickly get pushed aside. She’s content; numbed. And out here, in the cold, chaotic reaches of deep space, it’s a warm molasses-like feeling in her gut that has been missing for far too long. One more proof that Hoshi Sato existed.

Mattered.

(There had been music that night. Warm copper bells, discordantly soothing tintinnabulations lost in the fragrant alien darkness)

But here, in her quarters, everything is now, and there are no more thoughts of tomorrow, or yesterday, and T’Pol’s skin tastes of warmth and spice and tea – Hoshi can’t quite decide how one can taste warmth, but it doesn’t matter. T’Pol hums softly under the cool pressure of her kisses, the not-quite sound vibrating against Hoshi’s slightly swollen lips as they move over the olive-hued skin of her collar bone.

They didn’t speak much during these encounters, but it wasn’t the dispassionate silence of two people desperately seeking what can only be seen behind closed eyelids; but a release and safe haven, and it was enough. Hoshi built the bridges the ship and a desperate crew of eighty-six people relied on everyday to make it through their mission; what could always end up being their final achievement in humanity’s name.

Here, in this room, there are no words, only the warm sound of bells shuddering in the night air.

The air recycler cycles off, the almost inaudible buzz to everyone but Hoshi lost for a few hours, and with it, the sound of the chimes fades like heat hazed pavement shimmering in the sun.

Hoshi thinks that maybe she should get off the ship more.

T’Pol’s skin is glowing faintly copper, and Hoshi pauses just to admire the lean lines of her lithe body in the flickering light of the forgotten meditation candles.

Silk glides like water against her skin as she moves across the other woman’s body; the scarlet splash of colour shocking, where everything is cool and neutral and tranquil, and Hoshi is fiercely satisfied by the dichotomy of it, even while she pushes the thought away.

(We were discrete. No discussions but in the quiet moments of passion spent, as if you could somehow bind it with your words, tie me to you and encapsulate that vulnerability into something you could defend)

The scarves won’t really hold her anyway, T’Pol’s otherworldly strength rendering them more a minor nuisance then a genuine threat, but she has readily relinquished control, waiting to see what Hoshi does with this freedom, her large brown eyes regard her, curious.

Hoshi has learned that logic does not preclude games.

She’s thrilled to see that her serene countenance is beginning to waver, tiny betraying movements of hips and stomach more erotic than even the soft changes in her lover’s breathing as it shifts from calm and controlled to soundless moans; even in the depths of passion, the Vulcan would never abandon herself so far. It doesn’t matter. For someone who has deciphered language and meaning from the liquid noises of a (non-strawberry flavoured) gelatinous race, the quiet hints of shifting musculature and barely-there vacillations in expression are sonorous in the warmth and un-competing quiet of this place.

(They had thought you too quiet, too withdrawn, but they were deaf. You told me all I needed; every gesture, every nuisance a declaration of the very essence of who you were, layers of stiff reserve and discipline a barrier for one who felt not enough, but too deep. Tight control and economy of movement — a fulmination of being against all that would shatter what you would hold safe)

Cooling on the thin, Starfleet issue mattress, T’Pol lay, panting, body still trembling minutely from the tiny pinprick explosions tingling along her sensitized skin, small aftershocks left in the wake of her pleasure. Hoshi pushes herself up on to one watery elbow. It isn’t easy on the narrow bunk, but she loves to see the normally stoic Vulcan like this, to know that she had effected her, defiantly leaving her mark on that almost ageless Katra forever. She could stay like this, childishly satisfied in a thing broken, but it’s not long before T’Pol is encouraging her submission, soft caresses gentling her to lie back, telling her of everything she finds too loud to hear, emotions too painfully sharp when verbalized.

Things she had once heard in the hands of another.

(Weapon’s fire — the sounds painfully loud, even in my nightmares. The scarlet shock is too much to take in before the sand swallows it. In moments, no evidence of you is left on that vast sand-sea, its heat-forged sterility too eternal a thing to be changed by the likes of us)

They call it le petite mort, and Hoshi is vaguely satisfied in this as she shuts down a little more inside, instead savouring the luxuriously abrasive texture of the Starfleet-issue linens against her skin.

T’Pol once told her to envision a beautiful green sea, to imagine herself surrounded by the calming shushing of the waves, their lapping sounds working into her subconscious, washing away her fear, her uncertainty.

(The mourners wore robes the exact colour of you’re eyes. I wanted to share this rather playful observation with you, but was confused by your absence. Where were you? The kohl they wore stood out darkly in the deep purple dusk, discordant as I listened for you, but you were motionless; silent.

I am left to wonder if you ever earned enough Eagle Scout badges to navigate your way back to me from under alien stars?)

Instead, Hoshi loses herself in heated remembrances of a vast sand-scoured plain, the twin suns’ warmth like a physical thing as they beat down.

T’Pol is with her, and it’s now, and there is no tomorrow or yesterday in her familiar grey eyes. The pendulum sounds of the tingling metal move through her, riding the crest of her pleasure with its copper tones and for one nearly endless moment, Hoshi welcomes them; her desert chimes.

And faintly, she breaths in the memory of old-fashioned shaving cream and musk, lost in the vociferous silence of another’s embrace, the air redolent with the spice of alien night-blooms.

~ Finis ~