Equilateral

Trip, T’Pol and Jon walked together to the shuttle bay. Hoshi was waiting for them, a bag slung over over shoulder. Jon was still apprehensive about so many senior officers leaving the ship, but he needed to barter for the services of the spacedock in person, with Hoshi’s help, and Trip need to prepare the spacedock for the ship’s arrival. But it was one thing for the senior officers to leave the ship in a protected orbit while visiting the planet below, quite another to leave a crippled, isolated Enterprise for four days.

“Good afternoon Commanders, Captain,” said Hoshi

Jon nodded and smiled, before turning to T’Pol.

“I still don’t feel right about leaving,” said Jon, “Not with the ship’s systems in disarray.”

T’Pol had her hands behind her back, and she raised an eyebrow.

“The manager of the station was clear. He wished payment negotiations to continue with you directly,” she replied, “Do you doubt I can command Enterprise in your absence?”

Her eyes sparkled. Early in their exile, she had lectured him about trusting her to do her job. More than ever, it was essential that he be willing to let her do so. Jon sighed. She was right, as usual.

“We’ll see you in four days,” said Trip, locking eyes with her.

“Good luck,” she said nodded at him and Jon before looking at Hoshi, “Good luck, Ensign.”

With that, T’Pol turned on her heel and left the shuttle bay. Jon smiled to himself. The stiff Vulcan woman he’d known in the first days of their mission would never have wished anyone good luck.

“I’ll pilot,” said Jon to Trip, “You can take over next shift.”

Hoshi, who had seated herself in the back, leaned forward.

“I can take a shift, too, sirs. I need to log more hours,” she said.

Jon nodded. Hoshi was hardly the same skittish young woman who feared space travel. She was learning to fly shuttles and could aim a phase pistol as well as anyone.

“Did you manage to say goodbye to Kemper?” asked Trip.

Jon looked over at Hoshi. Kemper was a MACO, nice guy. But Jon didn’t know that Hoshi was seeing him. Jon glanced at Trip. Captains were always the last people to know anything.

Jon didn’t turn around and look at Hoshi, who was suddenly rattling on about how much she fun she and Kemper had together. Jon wondered if she knew anything about. . .if the crew had started to figure out the situation between the ship’s senior officers. Trip had mentioned something once about the whole ship thinking there was more going on between T’Pol and him than there had been. But did anyone suspect the truth about what was currently going on?

Jon sighed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from his crew, but the mate-sharing thing was probably best keep quiet for the time being.

“So,” said Hoshi, “How’s Commander T’Pol been? She seems like she’s adjusting to the new order.”

Her question was pointedly directed at Trip, which was both a relief to Jon and a slight irritation.

Trip shot a quick smile at Jon and turned around to face Hoshi.

“She’s doing fine,” said Trip with a hint of tease in his voice.

“So I hear,” said Hoshi, “I also heard you two got to spend some time together on the moon survey. . .I’m sure that was fun.”

Trip grinned at that, but he didn’t reply and demurely changed the subject. Jon, who kept his focus on flying, wasn’t jealous that Trip had gotten some time with T’Pol. . .he just wished he’d been there. Or something like that. Jon had gotten the impression that things between Trip and T’Pol could get intense--almost too intense--when he wasn’t there. He’d noticed that T’Pol had grass stains on her uniform and cut hands when they returned from the surface of the moon. Worse, T’Pol had looked emotional . .almost overwhelmed. Trip had looked the same. Jon was concerned they might do each other harm, without meaning to. It had been days since he and T’Pol had been together...longer still since the three of them had really been together. Jon missed them, and he was beginning to feel the old stress return to his body.

Jon kept silent as the two chatted amiably about the ship’s activities and the plans for reconfiguring crew quarters. Two crew members were already pregnant and three weddings were planned. Enterprise was becoming a generational ship. All the more reason to keep his mind on getting her a good overhaul at the station.

* * *

The first day of negotiations had been long and hard, but finally Archer had offered to provide the space station with an assortment of seeds and seedlings from the ship’s garden on top of the last of the trellium and some warp plasma. It seemed a good bargain, and this station, though austere, didn’t appear as though it was going to snatch any crew in the night.

The station’s quarters were not much bigger or well-equipped than the interior of the shuttle. Low lighting, small corridors designed for humanoids that did not grow very tall and cuisine that made Jon wish he had brought Chef along.

He had managed to secure two tiny rooms on the station, allowing Hoshi her own space. Jon escorted her to her door.

“You were a great help, as always,” said Jon.

“Thanks, Captain,” she replied wearily, with a yawn, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Ensign,” said Jon as he headed into his room.

Trip, as expected, had not arrived from the engineering section yet. Jon showered, wrapped a towel around himself and proceeded to contact T’Pol and check in with the ship. Her messages were emphatic. All was well.

“So how are you?” Jon asked with a smile. It was good to see her, even on the room's small screen. “Did you have Phlox look at your hands?”

T'Pol pressed her lips together. She was begrudgingly discussing the matter “They are nearly healed, no small thanks to the doctor and his osmotic eel.”

Jon grimaced. He wouldn't push the issue further, though it was difficult to set aside his feelings as a concerned lover. “Get some sleep, Commander,” he ordered softly.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

* * *

Sleep nearly eluded T'Pol as meditation had. She had been too preoccupied with her encounter with Trip on the moon's surface to focus on the flame and find her white space. The raw feelings Trip had awakened in her were at once exhilarating and confusing. Finally, after tossing and turning for what her mental clock told her was an hour and 43 minutes, she drifted into a fitful sleep...

40 Eridani A hung high over her clan's ceremonial grounds. The entire village had turned out for today's spectacle. The barbaric offworlders circled each other in the arena, eliciting cheers and groans whenever one struck a blow.

Initially, the elders had been outraged that T'Pol had chosen the offworlders as her champions. She had rejected every suitable Vulcan male that had been chosen for her. She was not about to become a trophy bride or a peace offering to a rival clan. The last suitor the elders sent had become a eunuch by her own blade.

The offworlders, however, had looked upon her with a dangerous mixture of affection and lust. Regardless of the victor, she knew she would be respected and, more importantly, satisfied. Gradually her kinsmen had taken a great interest in her perverse fascination with the human men, and enthusiastically received news of T'Pol's impending marriage.

Crowds soon gathered, and they wasted no time making wagers. They only wanted to see blood spill. It was of no consequence that it would be red instead of green.

The combatants also seemed to develop a lust for the fight. T'Pol had decreed there would be no weapons in the arena, so they fought hand-to-hand as their naked flesh burned in the desert sun. Their bruised and bloodied bodies were caked with sand and dirt from rolling around when they'd wrestled each other to the ground, drops of sweat forking trails of clean through the grime, accentuating the peaks and valleys of firm, well-developed muscles. Counter to normal physiological response to combat, both men had developed erections, she noted, as arousal stirred in her own loins.


* * *

Jon had begun to pace the tiny room. He had done all the work he had brought with him, and then he invented some more. He should have been exhausted. He should have been asleep by now. Instead, he felt restless, and he wanted to Trip to show up.

Eventually, Trip did arrive, covered in grease and dirt. Apparently, he had done more than consult the station’s team on how to prepare for Enterprise. In typical Tucker fashion, he had gotten his hands - and the rest of himself dirty as well.

“I’m hitting the shower,” said Trip, sleepily.

Jon gave him a brief nod as he passed by, and soon Jon was listening to the water gush behind the bathroom door.

***

Though their chests heaved with exertion against the thin atmosphere and high gravity, both continued to fight valiantly for her hand—and their lives. Occasionally they each would catch her watchful eye, and she knew that both men wanted nothing more than to please her, both in the arena and in her bedding. After nearly an hour, no clear winner was emerging. She had perhaps chosen her champions a little too well, their fit bodies and fierce determination never failing them.

T'Pol would take matters into her own hands. “Kroikah!”

All became still as she stepped forward into the arena. Only the clan matriarch was permitted to halt the combat, and even then, only upon the death of one of the participants. No one made a move to stop her. Given T'Pol's controversial choice of prospective mates, it seemed that all from the highest elder to the lowest slave had tacitly agreed that there were no rules governing this particular situation. Eventually the stunned silence passed, and the crowd hurled jeers her way for interrupting the action.

As T'Pol drew near, she became more acutely aware of the smell of their humanness. What disgusted her kinsmen, she found impossible to resist. The aromas of combat and sexual need intensified their alienness while further igniting her hunger.

* * *

Jon’s heart had started to beat faster as Trip emerged from the shower, also clad only in a towel, started rummaging through his bag.

Trip dropped his towel and proceeded to nonchalantly pull on his sweats. Jon looked him up and down. Jon trained his eyes on the faint scar atop Trip's thigh, and then higher. Trip had obviously taken a cold shower.

* * *

The men watched her carefully. Though she could sense their continued bravery, she saw the uncertainty in their eyes. She looked from one to the other. The light-haired one's lip was split and bleeding. The dark one's eye was swelling shut. Both faces were smeared with dirt and perspiration.

Her blood thundered through her veins. Every fiber in her body wanted. She knew what she must do, and she would eviscerate anyone who would stop her.

Finally, she spoke, loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Nam-tor veh yut goh kup-kim-tor nash-kal-if-fee ” There is only one way to settle this challenge.

Neither man knew Vulcan, but they understood her perfectly: they would perform for her, then they would take her.

* * *

"I spoke to T'Pol. She's fine. Her hands are better."

“That's good,” Trip answered, stowing his bag.

"So. . .things got a little intense between you two?"

"What are you implying, Jon?" Trip turned, setting his jaw.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just worried. . about both of you."

"You think I'd hurt her on purpose?" Trip snapped.

“No,” Jon said, taking a deep breath. They'd both been getting so irritable so quickly. “I just...”

Eyes flaring, Trip suddenly moved forward and grabbed Jon roughly by the shoulders. For a moment, Jon thought for sure Trip was going to throw a punch.

Instead, Trip leaned up and covered Jon's mouth with his, thrusting with his tongue.

Jon instinctively opened his mouth, and he put his arms around Trip and clutched at his muscled back.

Trip pulled them both down onto the bunk - forcing Jon to drop his towel in the process.

* * *

Cheers and taunts erupted from the onlookers as the human males turned, drawing each other into a deep kiss. Sex was the only thing her people found as entertaining as violence—the more depraved, the better, for both. T'Pol smiled as she circled them, taking hedonistic pleasure in watching her champions' erections rub together as they pulled each other closer, chest hair tangling, desperately clutching and groping. There was nothing loving or soft or tender about this; it was all savage, decadent need, as their combat had been.

She reached, placing a hand on each man's tight, bare posterior, every squeeze and caress encouraging them further. The blond one dropped to his knees, taking the full length of the other into his mouth, driving the onlookers wild. When one Vulcan clan conquered their rivals, the male victors often forced the losing males to service them orally as a reminder of their superiority and dominance.

There was no force here. There was only their desire to please—her, as well as each other. Her blood combusted as the sucking and smacking sounds coming from one elicited moans of ecstasy from the other. Unhooking a single clasp, her thin robe slid off her shoulders and was carried off by the hot breeze, leaving her in nothing but sandals and ceremonial jewels. Her kinsmen were about to discover just how deeply her perverse affinity for alien flesh ran.

The dark-haired male turned slightly, leaning down to kiss her openly, her heart quickening at the human taste of him. The other male disengaged, adjusting to nestle his face between her legs. Deafened and blinded by the white heat of her desires, she was no longer aware of the cheering and self-gratification occurring around them. Fumbling, she eventually found the contact points on her champions'--her husbands'!--faces. They shuddered and gasped as her mind penetrated theirs. Tipping her head back, she screamed into the sun. “Pon farr!”


* * *

Jon was rock hard at this point and pressed down against Trip, feeling the other man's arousal through the material of his sweats. Trip pushed Jon back onto the small bunk and began raining kisses onto his chest.

Jon's whole body quivered as Trip moved lower. . .and then lower still.

Jon gasped at the idea of what Trip was going to do. All things considered, they had done very little to each other . . .

The thought was interrupted as Trip's cool, human mouth closed around Jon's cock.

Jon had never had a man go down on him before, and he was pretty sure Trip had never gone down on a man--but there was something comforting about the humanness of the way Trip felt. Archer sighed as Trip threw himself into the task at hand.

Jon wove his big fingers into Trip's hair, pulling in a way that he knew had to be painful but he couldn't stop himself.

Trip's mouth felt so good. . .so good that part of Jon just wanted to let go completely. . .spill into his friend's mouth. But he couldn't do that. . . not yet. He needed to return the favor.

Jon sat up, extending his reach to tap Trip on the back of the shoulder.  Never stopping, Trip looked up at him questioningly.

"Turn around," Jon said hoarsely.

Trip got the message, and he obeyed immediately. Jon pulled down Trip’s sweats, causing his erection to spring free. Jon's heart beat faster as Trip swung his legs around to the top of the bed. Jon lifted his head and took Trip's hard cock into his own mouth.

The unfamiliar taste and feel of him wasn't unpleasant, and Jon began to mimic the motions that he had experienced countless times.

Trip obviously appreciated the work because he let go of Jon's dick and let out a long moan.

That spurred Jon on, and he continued to suck and lick until he sensed Trip couldn't take anymore. He let go and gestured that he wanted Trip to turn around.

Trip shifted, leaning in for a kiss.  Jon sighed, the alien but not unpleasant feel of the weight of another man's body on him quickening his heart.

The two men's tongues danced around each other, and Jon blissfully felt Trip's hand on his cock. Moaning, he closed his fingers around Trip's and began to stroke.

The feeling, combined with Trip's still working hand, caused Jon to come. Delirous though he was, Jon had no intention of letting go of Trip until he too found release. He kept stroking, his head pressed against Trip's shoulder, until he heard the younger man groan. Soon, the two men were collapsed in one another's arms.

Finally, Trip broke the silence with a laugh. "You think she'll be mad?" he asked.

"Mad that she wasn't here to see this," replied Jon.

"I think we're gonna have some explaining to do," Trip smirked.

"We'll just have to make it up to her. . .somehow," sighed Jon playfully, as he leaned over and kissed Trip gently on the mouth.

The two men kissed for awhile before getting themselves ready for bed. Neither needed to declare the other bunk unnecessary as they squeezed themselves into one bunk and drifted to sleep in each other's arms.


* * *

T'Pol gasped, sitting up as she was shaken violently awake. The covers were all twisted up, and her silky pajamas were clinging to her, drenched with perspiration. Her pelvic muscles were still contracting in orgasm.

Catching her breath, she ran her hands through sweat-matted hair. The vividness of the dream still cloyed at her, though she was finally able to set herself enough apart from it to assure herself she was not, in fact, entering the Blood Fever. It disturbed her that her mind had chosen a representation of the brutal times that predated Surak, however she had to admit that the public setting had contributed to the thrill of watching Trip and Jonathan perform sexual acts on each other.

She could only surmise that her lack of meditation had contributed to her inability to put her recent outdoor experience with Trip into perspective, and her lack of opportunity to enjoy private time with both of them together before they left.

Still, something about their situation was becoming evident. She would need to speak with them when they returned.

Looking at the chronometer, she decided it was still too early to dress and report for duty. She would never hear the end of it if Trip or Jonathan suspected she hadn't been taking care of herself and sleeping. She resolved to clean up, change into fresh sleepwear, and let herself into Jonathan's quarters. If she couldn't be with her mates, she would try to soothe herself with the scents they left behind on Jonathan's sheets.