Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 16

T’Pol awoke early on the deck. The sky had not yet lightened though it was no longer pitch black. The silhouettes of the trees stood out from the purple night sky and the breeze from the waterfront wafted over her. Being Vulcan she found the early morning temperature somewhat cool and she pulled the sleeping bag up around her shoulders. She glanced over at Archer laying in his own sleeping bag beside her and saw that by contrast he found the temperature too warm. In his sleep he had flung the sleeping bag open and the thin liner sheet was pushed down to his waist. His arm was flung over his head and his bare chest was exposed the short hairs teased by the soft breeze. T’Pol rested her head on her arms and watched him as he slept. The tension that he unconsciously carried with him through the day was gone in slumber and he looked more peaceful than she had seen him in a long time.

As the sky lightened with the coming day T’Pol examined him at her leisure. He shifted in his sleep and a low moan escaped his lips. Frowning, T’Pol worried that he was experiencing another nightmare and debated whether she would wake him up if this was the case. Her concerns on this were put to rest however, when it became apparent that whatever scene was playing on the viewscreen of his mind, it was not an unpleasant one. T’Pol raised an eyebrow at the growing bulge tenting the sleeping bag liner at his waist. Jonathan shifted in his sleep, stretching and mumbling something under his breath. T’Pol unconsciously held her breath as she watch his hand caress his chest and slide down to his waist where the liner slipped to reveal his characteristic drawstring pyjama bottoms restraining his arousal. His hand cupped the cloth-covered bulge and he arched his back as his thumb stroked the tip through the material leaving behind wet evidence of his body’s excitement.

T’Pol bit her lip and closed her eyes as she debated whether she should get up and go inside to leave him to his privacy. There was a chance that the noise of her leaving would awaken him which would create an awkward situation for both of them. She decided to stay where she was, feigning sleep and watching him through hooded lids ready to snap them shut if he should waken. T’Pol convinced herself that the tightening in her belly as she watched him was not a consideration in her decision to stay.

His breathing pattern had changed while she had been deciding on a course of action and the cause was immediately apparent when she opened her eyes again. Not content with stimulation through the cloth, his sleep directed hand had pulled the drawstring loose and delved below the cloth. The movement of his hand pushed the cloth further down until the bulk of his arousal was exposed. T’Pol opened her eyes fully to take in the view this afforded her. His sharp intake of breath as he arched his back prompted her to shut her eyes thinking he’d awakened. After a few moments she peeked out over her arm and saw that he was still asleep, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged. He whispered something softly under his breath, sounding almost like a sigh. For a moment T’Pol thought she heard her name.

* * *

She was caressing his chest, running her hands over his body and generally driving him mad. They kissed deeply, not wanting to come up for air, not wanting to part, and then finally having to, gulping air greedily before returning to their explorations. She was stroking him, watching him as she stoked the fires of passion. She closed her eyes as she brought him closer to release, his finger slid between her legs stroking the swollen nub until she shuddered in response. She slowed her stroking of him as he distracted her with his own strokes and she pushed his hands away. Disappointed, his eyes widened as she looked at him, her intent obvious in her gaze. She straddled him, reclaiming her hold on him as she guided him inside of her. “T’Pol!” he cried out as he entered her, the heat of her warmer than any human, so hot it was almost painful, and then they were moving together, his hands caressing her waist, exploring her breasts. He could feel her muscles contracting around him at he stroked her nipples. She leaned forward and he arched up to meet her capturing her mouth as they moved together in an age old rhythm.

* * *

T’Pol felt the slickness between her legs as she watched Jonathan stroke himself rhythmically, his breath becoming increasingly ragged as his erection swelled further, twitching with every heartbeat. Her hand slid downward of it’s own volition, slipping between her legs and finding the centre of her desire. In turn, her breathing became ragged as she caressed herself, increasing the pressure as Jonathan came closer to orgasm, her hips thrusting against her hand mirroring the movements of the human beside her. She stopped her movements when she heard his breath catch and then come in short gasps as his hand moved spastically over his erection, fluid spurting onto his belly. She was forced to close her eyes suddenly as she saw his eyes pop open as he finished. She slowed her breathing and feign sleep, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that one of her hands was still trapped under her body, her fingers poised over her swollen nub, legs apart. She involuntarily shuddered as her finger twitched beneath her, frustrated at the lack of release.

* * *

Archer woke from his erotic dream to find that he’d acted out the salient parts with his hands. He eyed the clearing fluid on his belly ruefully and froze as his eyes took in the landscape. He had forgotten that they had decided to sleep out on the deck. What if he’d woken her up? What if she’d watched him–had he said her name? He pulled his hand up, drawing his pyjama bottoms with it until he was modestly covered. He listened intently for the sound of her breathing and found that it was deep and regular. Steeling himself, he looked over and barely caught himself from sighing in relief at her peacefully sleeping form. He saw a shiver run through her body and reached over to pull up the extra wool blanket that had slipped off of her sleeping bag in the night before heading inside to clean himself up.

T’Pol waited until she heard the bathroom door close, and the sound of the shower running before she opened her eyes again. It was light out now, the sun still low on the horizon but she was feeling hot and pushed the wool blanket off her sleeping bag as the sun’s rays struck the deck and began to infuse it with their heat. Still hearing the running of the shower, she slid her hand between her legs again, this time parting them further for easier access. Her fingers slid through the slickness there, teasing her own hardened flesh until she shuddered with release, her hips moving spastically as she lost herself in the sensations between her legs, the warmth in her belly and the tingling in her breasts. When she was done, she felt her entire body go limp, melting into the sleeping mat beneath her as the warming rays of the sun took the chill off the morning air. She listened to the birds fighting over the bird bath and the lapping of the ocean as the tide prepared to go out but couldn’t quite fight the feeling that something was missing from the early morning sounds. Her mind puzzled about this for a few moments until she realised what was missing: she could no longer hear the sounds of the shower.

T’Pol’s eyes sprung open at the realisation that she couldn’t remember when the sound of the shower had stopped. Was it after she’d finished pleasuring herself? Had the bathroom door opened? Had he seen or heard her? She listened intently for sounds coming from the house. Finally she heard the door to his bedroom opening and movement in the kitchen as he fixed himself breakfast. She decided that it was unlikely that he had come out to the deck after showering and relaxed under the cover of the sleeping bag heating in the sun’s rays as she drifted off to sleep pleasantly exhausted by the early morning distraction.

* * *

Jonathan Archer finished preparing the frozen hashbrowns and scrambled eggs, foregoing the bacon to avoid waking T’Pol with it’s smell. As his own breakfast was cooking, he cut up a bowl of fruit and placed it on the tray, then added his own breakfast to it and headed out to the deck. He opened the door as quietly as possible, noting the sleeping form in the sleeping bag and sat down at the patio table to have breakfast. He gazed out at the beach and tried to decide what to do that day, feeling more invigorated and alive than he had in a long time.

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