Sex, Lies, and Duratanium Braces

RATING: NC-17 for coarse language, adult themes, and bed-wrecking sex.

GENRE: Humor…mildly ridiculous…and then there's the sex…

SUMMARY: Trip and T'Pol get their bed-wrecking freak on, possibly at Archer's expense.

DISCLAIMER: CBS/Paramount owns Enterprise and the characters and situations this story is based on. I just borrowed them for a while for my own amusement. The situations I put them in are all mine. Oh, and I didn't make any money by writing this and showing it to anybody, so I'm okay, you're okay.

THANKS: To Elessar and Mary, for their suggestions in their feedback for "Wrecked," which led me here. Whether or not you thank them depends on what you think at the end of the story.

STARFLEET ISSUE - RACK

QT: 1

REC: T'POL, COMMANDER (SFC)

Captain Jonathan Archer read—and reread—the unusual requisition form attached to the quartermaster's report.

There'd been no explosive decompressions on B-Deck, and it had been months since Enterprise's last battle with a hostile species.

Which left him with a pretty big question…

"How do you wreck a bed on a starship, Commander?"

T'Pol showed no reaction other than her customary inclined brow. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"

Archer hated the way she stayed so calm and collected. He wished she'd fidget or something—anything—in order to confirm his suspicions. Anxiety was beginning to fill his ready room.

She gave away nothing.

Archer wondered how she was at poker. Maybe she'd be willing to learn sometime if she didn't play already. They could make a killing in Vegas.

"I saw your requisition form for a new one," he said instead. "You mind telling me what's wrong with the old one?"

"It's broken."

"I gathered that." Archer was running out of patience already. T'Pol was not going to make this easy. "I was wondering if you could shed some light as to how."

"Neuropressure, sir," T'Pol answered a little too quickly.

"Excuse me?"

"I was teaching Commander Tucker a new posture." True enough, from a certain point of view. "We…fell." Also true enough.

Archer's brows shot up incredulously. "You broke your bed doing neuropressure?"

"It was…an advanced technique."

"And you both fell…and broke your bed?"

"Fortunately, neither Commander Tucker nor I were injured."

"I see."

Clearly, he didn't.

"If that's all, sir, I should see to those sensor recalibrations…"

Archer gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. "You're dismissed."

He finally sat back in his chair after T'Pol had gone. If there was one thing he'd learned in the last five years, it was how to tell when his Vulcan Science Officer had gift-wrapped a box of bullshit and handed it to him.

He supposed it really wasn't any of his business, any way, as long as it didn't interfere with ship operations.

Still, Archer considered keeping a closer eye on his Science Officer and Chief Engineer.

"You told him what?" Trip demanded over his coffee mug.

Across the table, T'Pol looked up from her padd and eyed him matter-of-factly. "You were in the process of stimulating several nerve clusters when the incident occurred."

Trip elicited stares from everyone else in the mess hall as he choked loudly on his coffee. He put up a hand to indicate that he was all right, that there was nothing to see, and that everyone should go back to their own conversations— or better still, get back to work. "Did he buy it?"

"I believe so."

"All right, then," Trip said hoarsely, his lungs still burning from the coffee. "That's our story and we're stickin' to it." He frowned at his chronometer. "I've gotta get back to Engineering. We on for a little more 'neuropressure' after the movie tonight?"

"I believe that will be acceptable, if you take me to dinner first."

Trip chuckled quietly. "No puttin' out without a meal, huh? Nice. You been studying human dating customs?"

"It is a refreshingly sensible practice, for your people," T'Pol answered, neither confirming nor denying his inference.

"How's that?"

Her voice dropped even lower, forcing Trip to watch her full, sensuous lips as she spoke. "'Neuropressure' requires a high level of energy output. Sharing a meal first is…logical…if we are to maintain…focus and discipline."

Trip's difficulty breathing no longer had anything to do with aspirated coffee. "I sure hope you're talking dirty right now."

T'Pol picked up her padd and pushed away from the table. He watched every memorized curve as she wordlessly left the mess hall.

There was no up or down.

There was no time.

No left or right.

No right or wrong.

There was only T'Pol, against his body and in his ears and in his mind and in his veins.

*creak*

"T'hy'la…!"

She had taken to speaking Vulcan as her need intensified. Trip wondered if she knew just how sexy that was.

"…weht…" she gasped.

Oblivious to everything else, Trip let her voice pull him further into her chaotic thoughts and desires, let it urge him to push deeper and harder and faster into her mind as well as her body.

*pop*

Trip loved the suction her hot, dewy skin made against his as they frantically moved together. Tendrils of her thoughts caressed his as her mouth tasted his face and his neck and his chest. Her hands devoured the rest of him.

"Weht!"

He pushed her knees back toward her, determined to give her what she demanded.

"…oh…!" she whimpered.

*groan*

"Yeah," Trip hissed, nipping at her bottom lip.

T'Pol shifted, dug her heels into the mattress, ground harder against him. "Weht…" Her hands slid down his back, pushed and squeezed into his firm backside.

She was so close.

"Oh, yeah," he urged. "Do it."

*creak*

"T'hy'la!"

push

*groan*

"Yeah!"

pull

*crack*

"…ri pehkau…"

grind

*pop*

"…ri pehkau…!"

"Yeah!"

*pop*

"T'HY'LA! RI PEHKAU!"

**ka-chunk**

They tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs as the recently repaired bed frame gave way. Trip ignored the cold sting over his left eyebrow in favor of the hot, blinding light of release as their minds shivered and their bodies convulsed. There was thunder in his ears; he was unsure if it was his pulse, the bond, or the result of a concussion.

It didn't matter. It hurt to think about anything more than a post-coital cuddle. He showered kisses on T'Pol's face as she clutched at him, anchoring herself to reality.

"You're bleeding," she said when she found her voice again.

Trip touched a hand to his forehead and found the sticky gash. "'S’okay," he answered, though his vision was slightly blurred and his ears rang, be it from the bump to his head or from his blood pressure gradually returning to normal.

He sat up slowly. T'Pol's arm snaked around his waist as she brought her head to rest on his shoulder.

Trip winced. Seeing T'Pol's bed in a twisted heap on the floor again just made his head hurt more. He had replaced the entire rack, reinforced the frame at possible stress points. Its tolerances exceeded Starfleet specs...

…so he thought.

He gave a resigned sigh. "I'll help you pack a bag…"

STARFLEET ISSUE - RACK

QTY: 1

REC: T'POL, COMMANDER (SFC)

STARFLEET ISSUE - DURATANIUM BRACES

QTY: 4

REC: TUCKER, CHARLES ANTHONY III (SFC)

"Really?!" Archer demanded of nobody in particular in his otherwise empty ready room. "Are you kidding me right now?!?" He squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief and frustration.

The quartermaster's report before him begged some serious questions, like…

"What the hell happened to your head?"

"Oh, this?" Trip offhandedly indicated the healing gash on his forehead. "Nuttin'. Just a little…work-related accident is all. Nuttin' to get excited about."

"You see Phlox?" Archer asked.

"Yeah. I've got another date with his leeches later on this afternoon. He says a few more treatments and there won't even be much of a scar."

"So what happened?"

Trip shrugged, moving from one console to the other, checking the status of intermix ratios and coolant flow and anything else that would make him appear too busy to bother his captain with such details. "Aw, you know…I was fixing T'Pol's bed last night and I got a little bump on the old melon."

"You hurt your head fixing T'Pol's bed?"

"Well, not exactly, Cap'n. Actually, it was already fixed. I was testin' it out."

Archer's brows furrowed. "Testing it out?"

Trip grinned self-deprecatingly. "Yeah. My own fault. I had to show off a little and prove to her it was stronger than before, so I started jumping on it. "

"You jumped on her bed?" Archer asked dubiously. "And she didn't have a fit?"

"Yeah. Hit my head on the way down. Smarted like a motherf—ah, it hurt a lot."

"I see," Archer said.

He really didn't.

"'Scuse me, Cap'n," Trip said, logging off his console. "I gotta get up in the Jeffries tube…unless you need me for sumpin' else?"

Archer shook his head and waved dismissively. "No, go ahead. I'll see you and T'Pol at dinner tonight."

Did Trip just wince?

Archer again contemplated his Science Officer and his Chief Engineer as he left Engineering. Mostly, he wondered which one had taught the other the fine art of gift-wrapping, because so far, neither had been so good at the bullshit.

"You told him what?" T'Pol panted, adjusting the incline of the treadmill as she jogged.

"Well, I was j—" He stopped. The play on words was funny, but he wasn't going to refer to the amazing lovemaking he and this woman had shared in such a crude way. "Never mind. It just seemed close enough to the truth at the time." He adjusted his own incline accordingly as he jogged beside her.

"Did he believe you?"

Trip shrugged, brushing sweat from his brow before it could sting his nearly- healed wound. "I don't think so, but it probably doesn't matter. Main thing is gettin' through dinner tonight, pretendin' everything is normal."

"I'll complain about the childish, arrogant display you blamed your injury on, if you believe it will help."

Trip grinned at her. "You always know just the right things to say."

They jogged silently beside each other for a while, each steepening their inclines when prompted by the computer.

Trip looked over at her, admiring the way her sweaty clothes were clinging to her, and how her damp hair was beginning to separate along the edges. Every muscle and every curve of her body and every trickle of sweat filled him with desire as she moved.

"You sure this is gonna work?" he complained.

"It's worth an attempt," T'Pol answered. "Perhaps if we are simply too tired to break anything tonight…" She left the thought hanging to finish itself.

"I wouldn't count on it," Trip muttered dubiously. "Oh, well," he continued with forced brightness. "Even if it doesn't work, maybe these workouts will give me big, bulging muscles."

T'Pol looked over at him, eyeing him up, then down. "Bulging muscles are not your only concern, apparently." Trip cursed under his breath. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted the incline once more and forced himself to think about cold showers and warp field equations.

So far, T'Pol's plan sucked. He needed a better idea.

He was lost in her. "T'hy'la!" T'Pol looked down at him with impossibly brown eyes. He swore she could see all the way into him.

Trip vaguely listened for the sound of stressed metal and complaining bolts.

There was only the slap of flesh against flesh.

She squeezed him mercilessly, each gyration pressing her breasts harder and harder into his cupped hands. Trip's face contorted as he held on to his last shred of control, desperate not to let go too soon.

One more calculated spasm from her and it was over for the both of them. T'Pol placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a deep, slow, satisfying kiss before resting her head in the crook of his neck. She began gently dragging her nails through his chest hair.

Trip caressed her affectionately as he waited for his heart to slow. "Looks like we managed not to break anything this time."

"It was a most effective solution."

After a moment, they reluctantly disengaged from each other to hoist the mattress back onto the bed. Trip left her to rearrange the covers while he activated the console at her desk.

"Are you coming to the shower?" T'Pol asked, situating the pillows.

"I've just gotta do something real quick first," he said over his shoulder. He was glad she couldn't see the mischief that was probably in his eyes. "Go ahead and warm it up. I'll be right there."

By the time he heard the water start, Trip was finished with his task. He logged off the console with a satisfied smile.

Now all that mattered was joining T'Pol while she was still slippery and naked.

"Oh, come on!"

STARFLEET ISSUE - RACK

QTY: 1

REC: T'POL, COMMANDER (SFC)

Archer stabbed at the screen control with a frustrated thumb, shutting it down.

He just didn't want to know any more.