Equilateral

“Sorry I'm running late,” Trip said quietly as he entered the captain's private mess. Jon and T'Pol were already seated in their customary spots at either end of the table, but he hadn't missed much. The steward was leaving, having just brought each officer's plate.

The days of catfish were all but gone; Trip sat down to yet another meal of piping hot alien mystery meat. He was surprised to see that there were still peas, or at least something that looked suspiciously like peas. Fortunately he'd never been that picky.

At least nothing on his plate was particularly ugly or scary-looking. If it had been, he just wasn't sure where else to look.

Stealing an occasional glance, Trip noted that he wasn't the only one having trouble looking the others in the eye. Jon was cutting his meat into impossibly small pieces. T'Pol was picking at something really interesting in her salad. No one even dared ask for the salt shaker.

The silence was killing Trip. As difficult as it was to look at the both of them without imagining them naked and doing things to each other and to him, that would've been preferable to being stuck inside his own head, stewing about it.

His food was getting cold. His stomach was twisted up. He couldn't eat. What they'd done was wrong on so many levels. Trip had always had a “thing” for T'Pol, even from the beginning. He wouldn't cop to it being “love,” at least not right away, but damn--! The woman always knew just how to rattle his cage, and eventually it became hard not to think about her all the time. After their one-night stand, he was sure she'd be back for more. That was certainly where things looked like they were going last night...

Last night! God, he'd fucked up big-time. Or did he? He didn't know. It was too complicated. He knew how he felt about T'Pol. He was pretty sure he knew how she felt about him. The question was, how did she feel about Jon? He'd seen how Jon looked at her over the years, but that had pretty much stopped once they'd gotten to the Expanse.

Or had it? Could that be why T'Pol hadn't come running back?

At least she hadn't slept with Jon before last night. Of that Trip was certain. He'd had to show Jon how to touch her, how to make her crazy. His mind took him hostage, pulled him toward the memory of the night before, how it felt to hold her and kiss her as Jon took her higher and higher, and--

Trip almost dropped his fork. His mouth dry, he gulped down some water with a shaky hand.

Jon. That was a complication he hadn't counted on. It was beyond complicated. He'd slept with his best friend! By all accounts, that rarely turned out well, if ever. It would have been different, maybe, if he and Jon had merely shared a woman, but...

But that wasn't what happened. And Trip knew it. And it would've been so much easier if he hadn't liked it.

What a mess.

And earlier T'Pol had been saying it had something to do with the fruit? It would explain a lot.

Wouldn't it?

He spared a glance at Jon ant T'Pol. Immediately he was pulled back to the sights and smells and sounds and tastes (tastes!) of that morning and the night before. He couldn't remember ever waking up so content. He--!

--needed time to think. He needed to not think. He needed to know what Jon and T'Pol meant to each other.

He needed to figure out what Jon meant to him.

Maybe it was just the fruit. It would be okay...if it was all just the fruit.

Right?

He needed to go.

“I need to get back to Engineering,” Trip murmured, pushing himself away from the table.

T'Pol eyed him with concern. “You've barely touched your meal.”

He didn't look at her. Or Jon. “Just have Chef wrap it up for me. I gotta go...”

He thought he'd breathe easier once he was out of the room. Rather, his chest constricted with doubt.

He needed to talk to T'Pol. Alone.

***

T’Pol stared at the candle on the small table before her. She should have been in her white space by this point, but the evening’s dinner had unsettled her and made her unable to concentrate.

Although it was necessary, attempting to put the events of the surface behind them would not be easy. She had foolishly tried to forget her first sexual encounter with Trip, and that had been outright folly. If she had acknowledged her inability to suppress her physical desires, she might have kept those desires in check or channeled them more appropriately.

Instead, the alien fruit had unleashed her physical and emotional turmoil with disastrous results. Although regret was illogical, what had happened between herself and her two closest companions — both of whom she needed in order to function in the temporal exile in which they had all found themselves — threatened her friendships with both men and likely their friendship with each other. Her deep affection for each of them was unchanged, but she had no idea how to channel that affection.

Her life had been so confusing since entering The Expanse, especially since the incident on the Seleya. That was when her control began to unravel. But even before that, if she looked deep within herself, she realized that her attraction to Trip had been building since the first neuropressure session. She was an unbonded Vulcan female of marriageable age, and she had had no business agreeing to such intimate contact with any male, especially a human male. The latent attraction, coupled with their deepening friendship, had produced an alarming reaction in her body.


T’Pol looked at the ceiling of her cabin and wished for sleep. Commander Tucker had been gone at least an hour, yet his scent remained in the room and on her body, and she had made no attempt to wash it from her skin. She inhaled the air, and a mixture of human and sandalwood soap filled her sensitive nose. Her mind wandered and painted pictures of things that she wanted to happen. She imagined his hands on her body, touching her in a more primitive manner than he had. She imagined him kissing her with his cool mouth. She found herself wishing that humans experienced blood fever, so that he would not have the strength to resist mating with her.

These thoughts caused a slow, steady ache between her legs. T’Pol had experienced such feelings in early adolescence but had learned to suppress them. The carefully learned systems of control were failing her, and instinctively her hand slipped under her silk pajamas in order to quench the ache. She had done this a few times when she was very young, before gaining control, and she mimicked the motions while imagining Tucker was still there. But try as she might, she could not reach a climax.

T’Pol was frustrated, desperate. She wouldn’t be able to sleep without some kind of satisfaction. She got up from the bed and rifled through one of her storage cabinets. She found a box containing small trellium rocks. She theorized that if she administered a small amount to herself in liquid form, she might access her emotions just enough to help her reach completion.

Her hands shaking, she prepared a tiny dose, less than she thought would be necessary. Yet, as her body absorbed the medicine, she felt relaxed and even happy. She lay back down on her bunk and reached between her legs again. It wasn’t long before pleasure overtook her. Not long afterwards, she drifted off to sleep, wishing that Commander Tucker shared her bed.


T’Pol’s stomach knotted in shame, remembering her terrible actions. She was permanently damaged because of them. However, she had not had an emotional outburst since she quit the drug. Her loss of control on the planet’s surface could be attributed to the effects of the fruit and stress rather than neural damage. She had to believe she could still keep control.

The chime on the door rang.

“Come,” she said, still staring at the candle.

She heard footsteps, and she recognized Trip’s familiar scent in the air. She didn’t look over at him. She couldn’t. He walked around and stood before her. He did not, as his habit had been in the past, sit down.

“May I help you, Commander?”

He smirked at that, and he turned away and moved to the window. He never liked it when she called him by his rank in private, but somehow, it felt too intimate for her to use his nickname. She stood up and moved to the window. She looked out at the blur of stars, just as he did. She had lost count of how many times Trip had been in her quarters, and yet his presence seemed wrong to her. She wondered what the Captain would think of them meeting like this, alone. Would he be angry at Trip for coming to see her? Or would he be angry at her for inviting him in? And would he be jealous for her sake or for his?

She kept her eyes on the stars as he reached out and brushed her ear with his fingers, an action that gave her goosebumps. She thought of asking him if he had come for neuropressure, but she recognized the absurdity of that. He hadn’t come for neuropressure.

T'Pol closed her eyes, and he pulled her into his arms. His mouth covered hers in a hard, possessive kiss, and she instinctively melted into him. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and his hands were at her waist, clutching her so tightly she feared he would leave bruises.

Just the kiss made her dizzy, and she knew he wouldn’t be stopping at just a kiss. She swooned in his arms as his emotions seemed to bombard her. She sensed confusion, jealously, fear. . .love. Did he love her? She was unfamiliar with emotions, but she thought he might. It wasn’t the innocent love she’d felt emanating from Sim, either. It was more dangerous, more human.

His hands efficiently unbuttoned her top and pushed the garment off her shoulders. She reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, breaking the contact between them. She looked into his blue eyes and saw a great deal of pain, some of which she had caused. She wanted to soothe him but felt powerless to do so. The only thing she could do was submit to him.

He pulled down her pants and helped her step out of them. She performed the same action with his sweats, noting how aroused he already was. She kissed his his chest and then lower. His impatient hands pushed on the top of her shoulders, and she got onto her knees.

She took his erection on her small hand and massaged him, firmly. He groaned and closed his eyes, and his hands caressed her shoulders before moving up to firmly trace her sensitive ears. She leaned over and took the tip of him into her mouth, swirling around her tongue before taking the whole thing into her mouth. She methodically used her mouth and hands on him, remembering how she had done this to Jon on the planet’s surface. The thought elicited a pang of guilt. She enjoyed performing this illogically pleasurable act on Trip, but she missed Jon, too.

“That’s enough,” whispered Trip as he pulled on her shoulders.

She stood up and he pushed her over toward her bunk, kissing her forcefully as he did so. She fell backward, and he crawled on top of her. He wasn’t slow and gentle as he had been at other times. It was as though the blood fever had overtaken him. His knee parted her legs, and she felt his hand briefly explore between her legs.

His roughness triggered a primal reaction in her, and she moaned and scratched at his back to encourage him, breaking the skin. He entered her quickly, filling her completely. His weight atop her, he nipped and bit at her neck and her ears. Rather than recoiling, her body responded to each pinch with heightened arousal, a fact which she could not keep from him.

“You like that, baby?” he whispered, “Is that what you need? You like it rough?”

His blue eyes were like ice as they locked with hers. She nodded in answer to his query and closed her eyes, hoping to block the emotional torrent that flowed from his mind.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

She opened her eyes before obeying him in a whisper.

“Trip,” she heard herself say as if the words were spoken by someone else.

He stared down at her as he began to thrust, hard and fast.

“That’s right. Trip,” he said.

She wrapped her legs around him, never breaking eye contact.

“But you miss him, don’t you?”

She didn’t respond, but he recognized her confusion. As his strokes became angrier, her body opened more fully to him.

After awhile he stopped his movements for a moment so he could take her small hand in his. He kissed and licked her fingertips before moving her hand between them and placing it between her legs. She gasped as she felt her own fingers massaging her clitoris. He forced the movements with his own hand for awhile, but then let her hand go so he could concentrate on his own movements.

Her face flushed green as she continued on her own, realizing he wasn’t going to bother to bring her to climax. Rather, he expected her to do it herself as he pounded into her body.

He still held her gaze as she did as he wanted, and tears formed in her eyes. And yet, her actions were soon successful, and she shut her eyes and cried out as she spasmed around him and lost all sense of anything but her own euphoria. He kept going until he too found release, shuddering and collapsing against her.

After a few moments, he rolled off her and began to get dressed. He didn’t even look in her direction. She wanted to say something, but no words came to her as shame and guilt overtook her. She realized that as much as she loved Trip, and she did love him, she missed Jon and loved him as well. Tears returned to her eyes, and she didn’t even try to suppress them.

As he headed toward the door, she choked out one word.

“Trip. . .”

He turned around for a moment, and she thought him might say something. He didn’t. He just left her there, alone.