#cinnamon candy

Trip returned to Endeavour from Vulcan thoughtful and sore. At least it was the good kind of sore, the kind that when his shoulders protested when he picked up his bag or when his abs ached when he bent over, he could remind himself he felt this way because he'd gotten to have a truly staggering amount of sex with the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy.

And not the usual kind, either. This had been a special occasion.

He checked in briefly with Chen, but the real talk could wait until he was back on the clock. So he went back to his quarters to take a shower and unpack. He stiffly pulled off his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. Bruises still encircled his wrists.

T'Pol had him pinned on the bed, her hands gripping his wrists. "My mate," she whispered, tears welling in her fever bright eyes. "Mine." The whisper became a growl, deep in her chest, and the sound sparked on something inside him, like flint on steel.

"Yes," he groaned. "God, T'Pol, yes." He was hers, he surrendered, she could do with him as she pleased, it was all he wanted, and he gazed up at her with desperate eyes, knowing that she knew.

She released his wrists, dragging her hands down his arms, over his shoulders, cupping his face between them. Her thumb brushed over his lips; he took it in his teeth, and she growled again.

He wouldn't be rolling up his sleeves in company for a few more days.

There were more finger marks on his shoulders and his biceps. Those weren't too out of the ordinary, actually, and he chuckled. It wasn't like rough sex had ever even really been his thing, necessarily, and honestly, sex with T'Pol wasn't rough - not in the traditional human understanding, anyway. It was just that she was physically strong, and sometimes, she couldn't help but leave marks.

In a way, he thought, those bruises and welts were a sign of her trust, that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him, to let herself go. She didn't feel like she had to hold herself back - she could just enjoy. She could just have fun. And she felt that safety with him. That was a hell of a thing. It was an honor, really.

And quite frankly, it was incredibly, ludicrously, brain-meltingly hot to know that he could get her to come like that. What were a few bruises in comparison to getting to see (getting to FEEL) her orgasm? She never seemed to believe him when he told her that. Maybe she would now.

Just above his hip bone, there was a blue-black bruise. He prodded at it, ever so gently.

She grabbed him, her hands at his waist, pulling him on top of her. But she wasn't paying any heed to where the edge of the couch was, and they rolled into the floor, oblivious of their destination. What mattered was he was still on top when they landed; his only thought was to that he needed be inside her again. He had to be - the alternative was unthinkable, unbearable. The only thing that could hurt them right now was distance between their bodies, even if they were only millimeters apart.

"More," she panted hoarsely. He nodded hard.

"More."

Because pon farr had been… Well, calling it 'intense' would be selling it short. It had been delirious, wild, uninhibited, and…free. He didn't know if it was the bleedover of their bond or if he'd just really gotten into the spirit of things, but he definitely hadn't bothered with higher thought in the middle of it all. His brain had taken a time out, and his body had belonged to her. They had belonged to each other, actually, in the most fundamental way possible. And it had been better than he could have possibly imagined.

He finished undressing, and as he turned for the shower, the sight of circular marks on the backs of his thighs, dark purple and red, caught the periphery of his vision. Where had those…?

"Harder," she gasped, the word both a demand and a plea. Her legs were tight around him, her heels digging into him as her hips bucked desperately, her breath ragged and hot in his ear -

Oh. Right.

He stood under the water, letting the heat loosen his sore muscles. He washed his hair and scrubbed down, but he'd have to be careful about his back, because -

Sweat stung the scratches on his back, but he didn't care. That faint discomfort was light years away; he was right on the edge, he was so close, he was crying out her name -

T'Pol had dressed those scratches before he left, looking at once proud and abashed. "You really left your mark this time," he'd said lightly, and her lips had twitched with good-humored embarrassment. "You always leave your mark," he'd added gently.

"As do you," she'd replied, taking his hand, kissing the inside of his bruised wrist. "Even if it is not visible."

The sensation had nagged at T'Pol all day, a sense of approach and anticipation that she could not dispel. It hovered in her peripheral vision, it was coming up on her from behind, it was so close – like a warm hand trailing down her spine, like a gentle kiss at the back of her neck -

“Madam Ambassador?” her aide's voice was hesitant, and she took a resolute breath. It was these doldrums between visits that were the hard part, when the children’s eagerness for their father was at its most acute and her own solitude seemed most bitter. But she would endure it, because losing herself to her longing would be illogical. She had her work, and she had her children, and for the sake of both, she would weather this.

That evening, she and T'Mir and Lorian ate their dinner, and the children played together for a little while before it was time to meditate in the nursery. Trip had recorded himself reading them stories, and she sat with them after putting them to bed, listening to his beloved voice until they had both dropped off to sleep.

She would endure. At the best of times, she felt as though half of herself was missing, and tonight was not the best of times. And there was that aching sense of expectation…

She woke suddenly, hours later, with the absolute and unshakable knowledge that she was not alone. She sat up, and turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating a figure near the door, someone both completely welcome and completely unexpected.

“Trip? What are you doing here?”

He wet his lips, his eyes drinking her in like a traveler newly come to an oasis. “I, uh…I had a day off, so I…I took the transport.”

“A day?” she repeated. “What sort of time does that give you here?”

“Long enough for me to spend the night…have breakfast with you and the kids in the morning.” He moved closer to the bed, never taking his eyes from her. “I just really needed to see you,” he said.

“And you did not tell me of your plan because you knew I would say it was illogical to come so far for so short a time.” He shrugged a shoulder, seeing no point in denial, and she pushed back the covers, meeting him a few steps from the bed. “But logic can be…inflexible at times,” she said softly. “I am very pleased that you’re here.”

He gently, almost carefully, rested his hands on her waist. “I’m glad,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “I needed you. Needed to remember where I belong.” His voice, husky and soft, dropped to its lowest register. “Needed my mate.”

He so rarely used that term, and hearing it sent a hot shiver through her. She took his face between her hands, and kissed him, slow and deep. You belong with me. I am your mate.

His hunger for her was evident in the heat of his responding kiss, in the tight grip of his hands, and in the hardness of the erection she could already feel pressed against her. With great deliberation, she leaned into him, enjoying the knowledge of his arousal, and felt the corner of his mouth move in a smile. Told you I needed you.

And what he needed, he would receive.

She nudged him back towards the bed, pulling at his clothes. She was well-practiced at getting him naked; perhaps it was illogical to take pride in that, but she did nonetheless. As soon as she had him shirtless, she gave him a a gentle push, just enough to put him on his back on the bed. He caught himself on his elbows, watching her intently the entire time as she divested him of trousers and underwear. She returned his gaze as she slipped the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders – one tug to get it past her breasts and another past the hips and it pooled in the floor at her feet. She leaned over him, supine on the bed, and kissed his chest, his shoulder, that spot below his ear, and finally his lips again. She could tease him, she thought, draw out the moment as long as possible, but…another night. Right now she didn’t want to wait.

Drawing up one leg on either side of his, she sank onto him with a shuddering sigh, one he matched as he closed his eyes. “Wow, you are-”

“I needed you as well.”

A little smile crossed his face as he let himself lay back, opening his eyes to watch her with a familiar, awed desire. He reached for her, one hand on her hip while the other rested between her shoulder blades, gently drawing her down to kiss him as they moved together in slow concert, his hips rising to meet her. It was completely illogical that he was there – it was a foolish, absurd, human thing to do – and she incredibly grateful that he was, and he had.

She could feel the tortuous, glorious tension of orgasm building within her, her breath catching, her body shaking. Trip knew it too; he slid the hand on her back up to caress the nape of her neck, turning her head slightly to breath in her ear, “Do what you gotta do, baby.”

What she had to do was to rear back at just the right angle, and watch his face as she rode him, until she couldn’t anymore when her head rolled back, and her body arched. “Oh, God,” Trip whispered. “T'Pol…”

She leaned down to kiss him again, shuddering with him in his release. She rested her forehead on his, and for a moment, they simply breathed together.

“That was kinda exactly what I was hopin' would happen,” he whispered, chuckling softly.

“Then you are welcome,” she replied. He smiled at her, and kissed her, soft and sweet.

After another moment, they slowly disentangled, slipping under the covers. “I know it was dumb,” Trip said as she tucked herself against him, head on his shoulder. Her left hand rested on his chest, and he took it in his own, playing with her wedding ring, working it up to the knuckle and back down. “But I just…I realized I could make the timing work, and I…I had to.” He idly brushed his hand over her shoulder. “It was like you were callin' me.”

“Perhaps I was, and did not know it.”

He tightened his hold on her. “I love you so damn much.”

“And I love you.”